


Blood and Water

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Hatfields & McCoys (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27397636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: If Eleanor Rutherford had listened to her mama, all those years ago, and stayed out of the brewing feud between Hatfield and McCoy, things might have been different. Better, even, or at the least, a bit less messy. But she would be the first to admit she was hardly wise when it came to matters of the heart, no matter how those matters may cost her in the end. Cap/OC/Calvin McCoy
Relationships: Johnse Hatfield/Roseanna McCoy, William "Cap" Hatfield/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Reflections

Near as I could tell, almost every girl in the Tug River Valley had their sights set on Johnse Hatfield since the day they were old enough to walk, and I was no different. I suppose, lookin' back, I really ought to be embarrassed about that, given how everything turned out. But at the time, the thought of what might have come my way, had fate, or divine intervention, or whatever else you want to call it not intervened never once crossed my mind. It never crossed any of our minds.

I imagine if it had, not a one of us would've gone within an inch of him without sufficient provocation.

Common sense wasn't a particular friend of mine in those years, of course, though I'd be lyin' if I were to pretend its absence didn't serve me well in some respects. Had I been a child of logic, I might have simply accepted my daddy's choice in husband, and let that be that. But pride, or vanity, or whatever else you wanted to call it simply wouldn't let me go quietly into that particular sort of matrimony, and now, here I am.

Absolutely nothin' on this green earth will ever make me say I regret it.

Although I was never the woman that won the heart of Johnse Hatfield, I do consider myself proud to have him as a dear, dear friend, the memory of some of our antics as the years went by even now having the ability to make me shake my head and smile. Likely, both our mothers would've called us damned fools time and time again had they known exactly what we were capable of—though of course, like any proper ladies, they would have refrained from doin' so in polite company.

With a sigh, I close my eyes and lean back against the doorway of my family's home, savoring the cool night breeze as it rustles my hair and skirts, and brings with it the far-off scent of pine needles and wood smoke. That scent, of course, brings with it the faintest sounds of laughter and good-natured shouts, signaling that perhaps these moments are to be the last peaceful ones I will have for the remainder of the evening—

Lord knows I would be a liar if I pretended that that was a complaint.

Jolted into action by the sound of those shouts growing closer, I remove myself from my place against the doorframe and run my hands over the fabric of my skirt, the gesture only halting as the palm of my right hand brushes against the small bump beneath the fabric. Unbidden, a smile rises to my lips, roughly in time with the emergence of the small figure bolting towards me from the tree line, blond hair flying out behind her until she collides with my frame and very nearly bowls me backward.

"Mama, Pa found a bunch a' rabbits down by the creek, an' Andy got a nice catch a' fish, an' then I found some mushrooms near the water—"

"Slow down, sweetheart, you're out of breath enough as it is" I caution; running my hands through my daughter's flyaway blond hair, and savoring the manner in which she almost automatically settled a bit, with her arms slung about my waist "Where's your Pa an' your brother, hmm?"

"Right here, Mama."

Almost as soon as the words are spoken, my daughter extracts herself from my embrace to run back towards her father, blue eyes wide with excitement and mischief as she nudges her brother away before taking his place at my husband's side. Though he shares a smile with me, I find myself rather more than a little pleased that our daughter still commands the attention of the man I love beyond reason, her words coming a mile a minute as they move past me, and into the house while my son bumps gently against my side in search of a hug of his own. Of course I give the embrace freely, before movin' back inside myself, with Andy in tow—

Even in the face of how we had been through hell to get here, I couldn't help but feel grateful that this life was very much my own, and I knew as soon as the thought came to mind that I would go through hell over and over again if it meant I could keep my family safe.

…


	2. Meetin' the Devil

(Kentucky, July 1877)

"Ain't you afraid you'll get in trouble, Lanie?" Roseanna McCoy asks me, her eyes squintin' against the harsh sunlight that bathes the field we just ran through as she comes to a stop and reaches a hand up to shade her eyes from the glare "Thought you said your Ma wanted your help in the kitchen today."

"She did."

"And you ain't gonna go back?"

"Not right now" I reply; allowin' the blue shawl I have wound around my shoulders to slip off and plop, unheeded, onto the ground while tiltin' my head back and savorin' the feel of the sun against my skin "Pa's been drinkin' again."

"Oh."

I don't even have to look at Roseanna's face to know that she's adopted an expression of concern, her blue eyes likely narrowin' just a bit as she tries to decide what to say. Of course I appreciate the effort, though truth be told I don't really want to deal with anyone's sympathy right now—

I love Roseanna to death, much the same as if she were my sister, but that don't mean I want her pity.

I think she senses that, or at the very least is wise enough to suspect it, since she doesn't say a word as she moves a bit closer to me, and links her arm through my own. For a moment, we just stand there in silence, content to drink in one another's company, and the sight of the settin' sun over the field we've been traipsin' through. But of course almost as soon as I am beginnin' to settle, I find that I am jolted back to the moment at hand once again, a far off call of Roseanna's and my names causin' me to chew a bit at my lower lip before I hear my friend begin to speak again.

"Do you think you could go stay with your uncle, awhile?" She asks; tiltin' her head to the side as she waits for me to reply. O' course the answer to that question, simply put, would've been yes, since just two days ago my uncle had made the same offer to Pa for reasons of his own, I suppose.

The only problem was, my Pa stated outright, then and there, that he'd never allow that to happen while he still had breath in his body.

"I can't, Roseanna. Pa said no."

"Your Pa shouldn't have no choice in the matter."

"How d'you figure? I'm only thirteen years old" I reason; gently pullin' my arm away from Roseanna's, and stoopin' to pick up my shawl from its place on the ground "Pa's got more say in my life than I'll ever have, I expect."

"I s'pose you're right" Roseanna sighs; a small frown marrin' her otherwise pristine features as she turns with me to head back towards home "An' I'd be lyin' if I pretended I wouldn't miss you if you did move to your uncle's."

"I'd miss you too, Roseanna."

"That's good to know."

Unable to resist the urge to laugh, I find that I am simply givin' in, even in spite of my formerly somber mood, my arm once again linked with Roseanna's so that I can bump my shoulder against hers by way of thanks. Truth be told, I'm grateful, both for the simple reality of her presence, and for how easily she seems to have distracted me from my troubles, at least for the time bein'.

Even though I'm honestly dreadin' going back home, somehow the idea of facin' my Pa with a friend at my side makes it seem more bearable than it was before…

…

Later that night, I find myself sittin' between Pa and Mama in the wagon, my teeth chewin' at my lower lip as I struggle not to cry. My bottom still stings from the beltin' Pa gave me on account of not comin' home to help in the kitchen like I'd been told, and though I hadn't caught sight of it in the small mirror my mama keeps in her bedroom, I knew the cut on my cheek had to be quite a sight as well. Course, I knew most everybody would say I deserved it, if they heard Pa's side of the story—

And that was precisely why I intended to remain stubbornly silent 'til we got back home.

That said, it proves to be nearly all that I can do to restrain the soft whimper that wants to break free when Pa grabs my waist to plop my feet flat upon the ground, my eyes closin' of their own accord as though I'm waitin' for another blow that I haven't even earned yet. Though she's tryin' her best to hide it, the way my mama freezes in mid-step as she makes her own way 'round the wagon tells me she's fearin' it too. But somehow, mercy prevails, an' he doesn't touch me any longer than it takes for him to set me down, my feet instinctively steppin' away as he turns on a heel and reaches for my mama's arm.

Left to my own devices while they head towards the other adults that are grouped together underneath one of the tents that have been set up in anticipation of the fireworks display that's comin' later, I turn and head blindly in the opposite direction, my arms crossin' over my chest as though I'm tryin' to fend off a chill. Truth is, I'm so far buried in my own embarrassment and childish anger at my pa, in that moment, that I don't really pay too much attention to where I'm goin'—

I s'pose that's why I come very near to fallin' on my hind end after plowin' directly into a man much taller than I am, the only thing savin' me from topplin' over bein' the pressure of his callused hand catchin' at my arm.

"Easy there, girl" A deep voice cautions; the hand that belongs to its owner givin' my arm a gentle squeeze, and causin' me to flinch away almost on instinct so that I can be free of him, before peerin' up to see exactly who my would-be rescuer is.

My God, it's Devil Anse Hatfield himself—

Speechless as I was, I simply stare, open-mouthed at the man planted right in front of me, his blue eyes seemin' to rove over my noticeably smaller frame as though wonderin' if I'm a simpleton. I know I should say somethin'—do somethin', if for no other reason than to thank him for savin' me from an embarrassin' fall. But somehow, I can't begin to find the words to do even that simple task, my mouth openin' and then closin' in a matter of seconds, and appearin' to prompt at least some amusement from my savior as a result.

"What t'hell you do to her, Anse? She's pale as a sheet" Another man states; movin' to stand beside the imposin' man I can't seem to stop staring at, and shootin' me a half-smile as a boy about my age appears at his other side "She's a perty thing—"

"Shut up, Jim" Anse Hatfield orders; shootin' a look at the man standin' beside him, before returnin' his attention to me, and squattin' a bit so that we're more eye to eye "One a' the boys 'round hear do that to your face?"

Flinchin', I instinctively bring a hand up to my cheek to cover the mark my pa made when he hit me earlier that day, my skin burnin' with shame as I avert my eyes, and shake my head in silence. Truth be told, I'm not even sure why he cares, seein' as I'm not one of his kin, an' I'd never even met him, before today. Of course, I'd heard of him, seein' as my uncle was the doctor who'd helped his wife birth their children, as well as several others in town.

Still, what I'd heard, an' what I saw were turnin' out to be vastly different things.

"Your Pa do it?"

Just hearin' the suspicion in Anse's voice has my blood freezin' in my veins, my eyes dartin' to the ground while I shuffle a bit in place, at a loss for what to say. Though I refuse to look at him directly, I know somehow that he's waitin' for my answer. That he'll be far less than pleased if I actually tell him the truth. But before I can figure out exactly what I want to say, I feel another hand grabbin' onto my shoulder, my body tensin' all over again as my pa's voice rings out from beside me.

"She ain't botherin' you, is she?"

"Not at all" Anse replies; once again risin' to his full height, and slippin' both hands inside his trouser pockets while eyein' my pa with somethin' not too far from contempt "Just was wonderin' who marked her face up like that s'all."

"My Lanie's a bit clumsy, Anse Hatfield. You got a problem with that?"

Leave it to my pa to blame my wounds on me, an' me alone—

"Don't see as how I can, though maybe her uncle oughta take a look at that cut."

"The cut's fine" Pa persists; using his hold on my arm to tug me back against his side, and seemin' oblivious to how I'm tryin' to squirm away "An' she an' I'd best get back to her mama 'fore she starts to worryin'."

"Maybe she could spend some time wi' us. Levicy'd love to have another girl 'round to talk to durin' the fireworks" Anse remarks; his expression all but darin' my pa to disagree with him an' make a scene. Just from his face, I can tell my pa knows that he's been backed into a corner, and almost as easily I can see that I may end up payin' for that later on down the road. But he really doesn't have much of a choice, seein' as Devil Anse'll likely end up suspectin' him of the worst, an' so I find that Pa's grip on my arm loosens just enough for me to step away, a curt nod not hidin' the fact that his jaw is tensed as he lets me go.

"Go on, then, Lanie. But soon as them firecrackers are done you come find me an' your ma, got it?"

"Yeah, Pa" I nod; my voice comin' out in a tiny squeak as I eye my newfound companions warily, as though I am afraid they'll bite. In particular, the boy that stands on the other side of Anse's older companion catches my eye, his hands in his pockets just like his pa's while he steps a bit closer to me and clears his throat before speakin'.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Your pa was the one did that to your face, wasn't he?"

"Don't see as it's any of your business" I snapped; foldin' my arms across my chest, and bitin' my lip again while my cheeks burn in anger and embarrassment. Anse and the other man are still watchin' me, too, makin' me wish with all my heart that I could just turn and bolt from them to go anywhere else. But o' course I can't do that, what with how nicely Anse asked if I could watch the fireworks with him an' his family, an' so I do what I can to settle my emotions and square my shoulders, my voice hardly shakin' as I turn towards Anse and tilt my head back to look at him more directly.

"That was kind of you to let me be wit' your family, Mister Hatfield."

"Weren't no trouble at all" Anse replies; the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth givin' me reason to believe that he might have just smiled at me, an' makin' me feel somewhat at ease, though I don't have the easiest time figurin' out why "Why don't you come on an' meet the rest of the family."

Left with nothin' else to do but agree, I fall into step behind Anse an' his friend, while the blond boy that turned up with them takes his place beside me. My hands fiddle with my skirt while we walk, an' the boy's hands remain shoved in his pockets, though I can feel him dartin' glances my way every so often while we follow the older men back to the sizable gatherin' of people near a covered over wagon. But before I can make any attempt at apologizin' for my harsh words from before, the boy clears his throat and glances at me more directly, his eyes searchin' my own for a minute before he finally decides to speak.

"Name's Will. Will Hatfield."

"Eleanor Rutherford" I supply; doin' my best to manage a slight smile, until I find my attention caught by another tall, blond boy a few years older than me, runnin' up to Anse an' the other man, and sportin' the whitest smile I ever saw in my life.

"Though most folks just call me Lanie."

…

Turns out the fireworks start a bit later than I expected, an' I'm given a bit of time to actually mingle with the Hatfields and their extended family, some of them bein' more than welcomin' while others simply eyed me as though I was some feral thing they had to be wary of. That distance didn't really bother me, of course, since I was still at least partly determined to keep to my original promise of remainin' silent for the evening—

Too bad I felt at least partly obliged to talk to Anse Hatfield's wife, seein' as it made keepin' to that promise a bit difficult.

Levicy was a nice enough woman, an' I'd be lyin' if I pretended she didn't remind me just the tiniest bit of my own mama, with her frettin' and wantin' to make sure her children and I had enough to eat, suitable blankets to ward off the night's chill, an' all that. Different from my mama, though, was her unfailin' way of callin' her husband on his actions if the situation warranted it, an' though I was still a bit on edge around her, particularly seein' as I couldn't seem to stop starin' at her oldest son, I couldn't help but admire her for her unwaverin' sense of resolve.

She had the gumption to speak her mind, whereas 'bout the most my mama did when Pa started one of his fits was to cower, shakin' in her skirts until the moment passed.

With a single look at me, and the scratch on my cheek, Levicy Hatfield seemed to have decided to keep me close by for the remainder of the evenin', involvin' me in casual chatter while simultaneously keepin' an eye on her boys, and callin' out to them when they got a bit too rowdy. As most boys do, they were runnin' around, chasin' each other, an' exchangin' good natured blows and teasin' even though it's clear from the smiles on both their faces that neither of them mean a word of what they say—and, for a moment, I find myself watchin' Will, holdin' his own, though his older brother clearly has the advantage in size an' strength when it comes to wrestlin', my eyes lingerin' on the younger boy's lanky frame for just a moment before I shift my attention to his brother.

My God, but Johnse Hatfield was a dream, no doubt about it.

Course I can't really ogle him too much, what with his mama sittin' right beside me, a blanket clasped in her hands as she holds it out tentatively for me to take. The half-smile that toys with her lips puts me at ease, at least a bit, an' I find myself reachin' out to accept the blanket while Levicy pats it down around my shoulders in a gesture that is so surprisingly maternal I am momentarily taken aback.

"Th—thank you, Missus Hatfield."

"You looked cold, darlin', it was the least I could do" She assures; pattin' me on the shoulder one last time, before drawin' back and lookin' me square in the eye "Everythin' alright at home?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You sure 'bout that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I quip; squarin' my shoulders so fast that the blanket slips halfway off, and bitin' my lip once again as the familiar sting of embarrassed tears prick at my eyes. Of course I know I shouldn't be out an' out rude to the woman that's done nothin' but offer me a place beside her family, an' a warm blanket on top of all that, but I can't help but feel just a bit defensive, 'specially since the memory of her son William's similar inquiry still stings in my mind.

For her part, Levicy Hatfield seems to pick up on my suddenly tense nature, her expression softenin' as she tilts her head to the side and regards me with somethin' akin to sadness, mingled with admiration. She must be used to girls who go 'round cryin' when their pa's handle 'em rough, whinin' and carryin' on about how their lives ain't fair, but that's not how I was raised.

I knew well and good that if I ever told a soul 'bout my pa's tendency to beat on me an' my mama when we aggravated him I'd likely pay for it with my life.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want, darlin'" Levicy advises; sittin' just a bit closer to me so that she can brush her arm against my own in a gesture that is far more comfortin' than I expect "But you should know that ain't the way the world has to be for you, either."

"Meanin'—meanin' what?"

"Meanin' you're not always gonna have to deal with what you're dealin' with now" Levicy explains; fixin' me with a look that surprisingly enough prevents me from lookin' away in embarrassment, an' surprisin' me with another gentle nudge before she turns her attention towards her boys once again as the first boom of a firecracker splits over the nighttime sky.

"You're stronger than you know just by survivin' it this far."

I had no idea now, of course, but her words would one day prove to be very true…

…

Not long after the fireworks display is over, I allow the blanket Levicy had given me to slip away from my shoulders, and begin foldin' it back in a neat square, only to find myself stopped in the act as Levicy places a hand on mine, and shakes her head gently in denial. Though she doesn't come out an' say it, I can tell she wants me to hang on to the thing, even though I have no reason to understand why—but of course I don't dare protest, my hands scrunchin' up the fabric a bit while Anse Hatfield's wife manages a smile, and turns to call out to her boys who stand not far away.

"One of ya get over here an' take Lanie back to her Pa."

"That's hardly needed, Missus Hatfield, I'll be fine on my own" I protest; flushin' a bit at the thought of either one of her boys seein' the true state of my family with their own two eyes, an' not darin' to add that my pa probably won't take too kindly to seein' me walkin' around with any boy he don't know himself. Truthfully, I'm half scared to death at the prospect, though a part of me has the grace to smile as Johnse Hatfield makes a run for his ma before Will even has a chance to catch up.

Beatin' or not, I'd give anything to spend a few moments alone with him, God as my witness.

"Nonsense, darlin', Johnse'll take you back" Levicy insists; placin' a hand on my shoulder to give it a squeeze, before nudgin' me gently towards her son, and givin' him a look that says loud and clear if anythin' happens to me, he'll have her to answer to "Hope we can see you more often, what with your uncle, an' all—"

"I hope so too, Missus Hatfield" I reply; excitement causin' my heart to flutter a bit in my chest, even though I know it'll likely be a while before I'm this side o' the Tug River again. Her oldest boy isn't touchin' me, though he's walkin' close enough to my side to do so, his blue eyes watchin' me curiously as I fumble a bit with the blanket his mama gave me before wrappin' it 'round my shoulders once again. Despite my pleasure at bein' in his company, a part of me can't help but feel like some sort of animal on exhibit, what with how his eyes keep watchin' me, causin' me to flush.

An' of course he just has to choose now to remark on that—

"Why're ya blushin', Lanie? Thought you was cold."

"Blushin' ain't got a thing to do with bein' cold or warm" I retort; clutchin' the blanket Levicy'd given me even tighter than before, and shiftin' it so its hem covers the part of my cheek Johnse Hatfield can see directly "An' for the record, I ain't blushin'."

"Looks to me like you are."

"Well I ain't."

"Whatever you say" Johnse agrees; nudgin' me with his elbow and sendin' me a wink that nearly has my heart stoppin' in my chest "How come I ain't seen ya 'round here more often, though? Thought your pa was Doc Rutherford's kin."

"He is" I confirm; chewin' on my lower lip for a moment as I realize the conversation has once again strayed to a topic I'd much rather ignore "He's his brother, matter of fact."

"You don't visit him much?"

"Pa's got lots of things keepin' him busy 'cross the Tug."

"Like what?"

"Like things most pa's do, I 'spect."

"Well maybe since my mama seems to like ya so much, you'll come 'round more often" Johnse suggests; nudgin' me once again with his elbow, and provokin' a small laugh from me in response "I know I'd like it if ya did."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, reckon I would."

Well so much for not blushin'—

"Somethin' tells me you'd like it to" Johnse states; shoulders thrown back, and a confident smile lightin' his features as he risks a step closer to me while we continue walkin' towards the tent where I can see my mama an' pa standin' together waitin' for me "Maybe I'll ask yer pa right now."

"Oh Johnse, don't" I beg; instinct promptin' me to reach out and grab for Johnse's hand before I can fully realize what it is that I'm doin' "Please don't, Pa'll get real mad if ya do."

"But why'd he get mad? I'm only askin' ya to come over an' visit with my ma—"

"He'd take it wrong, I know he would. Please, Johnse, don't ask him."

"Alright, alright, calm down, darlin'." Johnse chuckles; threadin' his fingers through my own, and adoptin' a confused expression as I almost immediately tug my hand away since I can see my pa makin' his way over towards us from underneath the tent. I know if he sees anyone touchin' me, he's likely to fly off the handle, 'specially since I can tell by my mama's haggard expression as she watches that he's already been drinkin'—

"Thank you kindly for bringin' me back to my folks, Johnse" I manage; cuttin' him off before he can say anythin' else, and doin' what I can to ignore the stunned expression that takes over his features as I remove the blanket his mama gave me and hand it back to him before turnin' on a heel and runnin towards my pa. To my surprise, he doesn't say a word 'bout my escort, though I can tell from the gleam in his eyes he's spittin' mad. And even with how I am quite frankly terrified of what awaits me on the ride home, given how I've allowed myself to roam around with a boy I barely know unchaperoned, I can't help but smile, regardless.

I would be a liar an' a fool if I pretended that just the few seconds of Johnse Hatfield's time I had managed to glean wouldn't keep me floatin' with the clouds for near 'bout a week after the fact…

…

'Bout the middle of the next week, as I'm gettin' ready for helpin' mama with makin' dinner, I find myself stunned into silence as she waves me over to stand at her side, instead of helpin' me set the table with the knives and forks that are clutched tightly in her hand. Just by watchin' her, I can tell she is wary, as though fearin' that Pa will walk through the door any second and catch us idle instead of workin' as we usually were. But even with her fear, she still manages to grab onto my hand and tug me towards her in a hug, her hand smoothin' over my hair a bit before she speaks.

"You're always gonna be my girl, Lanie. You know that, right?"

"Course I do, Mama, why're you askin'?" I inquire; tiltin' my head back so that I can look up at her, and frownin' a bit when I see she's got a faraway look in her eye, like somethin's comin' for her that she can't quite see yet. If I'm bein' honest, I'm a bit scared to see her like that, 'specially since I'm so used to her holdin' her own, other than when Pa is in one of his moods—though almost as soon as I acknowledge that feelin' she's pullin' away an' settin' about the business of preparin' the kitchen for the evenin' meal, her green eyes that are the twin of my own flickin' to me once or twice before she changes the subject on me again.

"You have a good time with the Hatfields the other night?"

"Yeah, Mama, I think I did" I reply; avertin' my gaze so that I can try to hide the way my cheeks are blushin' at the thought of Johnse Hatfield, and the small chat we had before he returned me to my family. Of course, she sees right through me, like she always does, her eyes narrowin' just a bit as she looks at me in silence, for a moment, before placin' the last of the forks in its place on the table, and puttin' her hands on her hips.

"That Hatfield boy treat you proper?"

"Mama!"

"Did he?" She presses; a furrow formin' between her thin brows, and surprisin' me into noddin' my head in fervent confirmation.

"Course he did, Mama. He an' his family were very kind."

"I s'pose that's good."

"You s'pose? Mama, what d'you mean by that?"

"I mean you should count your blessin's that you got on their good side, an' steer clear of 'em in the future if you know what's good for you" Mama explains; her tone unusually hard, as though she's got some sort of personal feelin' for the Hatfield family that I know nothin' about. Confused, I find myself frownin' a bit, a protest just seconds away from leavin' my lips at the thought of never seein' Johnse again—but before I can get a single word out of my mouth, Mama places a finger gently on top of my lips, her voice goin' just a bit softer as she looks me in the eye and manages a smile before speakin' further.

"They're dangerous folk, Lanie, and I will not have you getting' caught up in their feud."

Of course, it was only later that I understood what she really meant with what she was sayin', though by that time it would be far too late to be lookin' back…

…


	3. Death to Life

(Kentucky, November 1877)

'Round three months after I quite literally ran into Devil Anse Hatfield, I finally learned what Mama was meanin' by askin' if I knew I was always gonna be 'her Lanie'. Though she must've known somethin' was wrong long before the sickness hit her full on, she kept stubbornly silent, choosin' to show me in little ways that I never understood that our time together was drawin' to its close. Of course, what with me missin' most of the signs, I didn't really pick up on it until it was far too late, an' she was already squirreled away in bed with weight droppin' from her frame faster than I believed was possible.

An' then, faster than I ever could've been prepared for, she left us to go an' sing with the angels.

I found her restin' peacefully when I went in to wake her an' try to get her to take some breakfast, her hands folded gently over her stomach, and a long braid wound across her shoulder. Her expression was so serene that for a moment I almost thought she had gotten better, an' was just sleepin' 'til I gently shook her awake.

Of course, as soon as I touch her, I can feel bile risin' to my throat, the coldness of her skin tellin' me she's gone before the rest of me can catch up.

I don't really recall much of what happened after that, 'cept for Pa comin' in to figure out why I never returned to give him his own breakfast, and then usherin' me to my bedroom when he saw Mama's body, and my likely stricken expression. For once, he's not stern, or harsh with me, his touch honestly surprisin' me with how light it is when compared to what I'm used to. But of course almost as soon as my uncle arrives, he disappears to go off drinkin', leavin' me to sit on my own on the front porch, my legs swingin' back and forth above the ground until I become aware of someone else sittin' down beside me.

"Hello there, Eleanor."

"Hi, Uncle Elliot" I mumble; snifflin' a bit, though I try my best to wipe away the tears that have been streamin' down my face before he can see them. Of course, I have no reason to think he'd blame me for cryin', 'specially since he of all people knows what my pa is capable of when he has the drink in him. My stubborn pride doesn't seem too inclined to just let me feel what I'm feelin' though, particularly as I find that instinct prompts me to dash at my tears with one hand, the gentle pressure of my uncle's hand upon my knee causin' my throat to tighten while he speaks.

"I'm so, so very sorry, child, but your ma's in a better place now."

"I know."

"Then why do I get the feelin' there's somethin' you're not sayin'?" My uncle presses; his hand movin' from my knee, to slide around my shoulder as he draws me close against his side, and presses a kiss against my hair. For a moment, the gesture almost has me cryin' harder, the familiar smells of antiseptic and spiced rum that are so familiarly my uncle pervadin' my senses, and givin' me at least somethin' to take comfort in amidst all the chaos. But somehow, the gentle pressure of his arm about my shoulders has me relaxin', a shaky breath leavin' my lungs before I gather the wherewithal to speak.

"She left me behind."

"She didn't mean to, sweetheart—"

"Yeah, but she did" I insist; my voice breakin' a bit mid-sentence, and causin' me to avert my eyes from my uncle's as shame causes my cheeks to flush "She left me behind, an' now I don't know what—what to do—"

"You're gonna move to West Virginia with me" My uncle informs; squeezin' me gently against his side, an' waitin' almost expectantly, as though he's predicted my next question even 'fore it comes.

"What about Pa?"

"Lanie, darlin', your pa's already gone."

"G—gone? What do you—where'd he go?"

"I don't know, darlin', but you're not gonna be alone in this, alright? I want you to know that" Uncle Elliot explains; once again squeezin' me against him, before leanin' away and tuckin' his finger underneath my chin so he can lift my face and look me straight in the eye.

"You ain't your pa, Eleanor Rutherford, an' I can promise you one thing for certain. I ain't him, either."

No matter how I might feel lost and adrift, somehow I know that my uncle means every last word he says. I may've just lost my mama, but I've also gained somethin' that I never expected in the process—

…

Mama's funeral was a small affair, seein' as we hardly had the money to do anythin' more than see to her burial in the small cemetery near the river. Pa is still missin', of course, likely holed away in the woods somewhere, drinkin' himself silly. But my uncle stands steadfastly by my side throughout the entire affair, his hand restin' securely upon my shoulder while we listen to the preacher talk about God, an' His mercy.

If there was a kind of mercy that involved stealin' a mother from a thirteen year old girl, though, I'd sure as sin never heard of it.

Squirmin' a bit beneath the burnin' rays of the sun as it beat down on the graveyard, and made my black dress near to unbearable, I glance through the tears that prick at my eyes towards the hole in the ground that we're about to put my mama's coffin in, a lead weight seemin' to settle in my chest as the reality of it all really and truly sinks in. My mama's gone. Pa's gone too, or near close enough to it so as it makes no difference whether he's still kickin' around somewhere, or the liquor he loves so much finally did him in. And although I know that I shouldn't let it harden my heart—that that would be the farthest thing from what my mama would've wanted—I can't help but find that I'm squarin' my shoulders, an' forcin' the last of the tears from my eyes, anyway, before catchin' sight of Roseanna standin' next to her own pa across the way.

God help me, I hope she never has to go through somethin' like this—

As soon as our eyes meet, of course, she glances at her pa, waitin' on his nod, which he freely gives, before makin' her way over to me, and pullin' me into a hug so tight that it very nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. The gesture almost has me cryin' all over again, though I bite my lip and will myself not to. My lower lip wobbles a bit, but finally, I succeed in reignin' in my emotions enough to pull back from Roseanna, and manage a weak smile, only to find that she's not buyin' it for a second, no matter how much I may want her to.

"Lanie, what're you gonna do?" She sobs; somethin' in her expression tellin' me that she already knows I'll be movin' to my uncle's, even before I have the chance to tell her. She's terrified. I can read that in her face as clearly as I can see the sun startin' to shine from behind its cover of clouds. And as much as I don't want to admit it, I'm terrified too.

I'm terrified to leave her behind, even as much as I'm terrified to stay where I am.

What exactly am I supposed to do with that?

"She's comin' to live with me."

Startled by the sound of my uncle's voice as he steps up to stand at my side, I crane my neck around to look at him, his eyes meetin' my own for a moment before he turns his attention to Roseanna, and offers her what I can only guess is meant as an encouragin' smile.

"It'll be safer for her that way, darlin'."

"Cause of her pa?"

"Cause of her pa."

"Can I—can I come see her sometime?" Roseanna inquires; desperation lacin' her tone, and causin' my uncle's expression to soften a bit while he nods in reply.

"Of course ya can. As soon as your mama and pa say it's alright."

Seeming to be satisfied by that answer, in and of itself, Roseanna turns after givin' me one last smile and heads back to Randall McCoy's side, leavin' me to be on my own with my uncle once again. Together, we spend a moment, lookin' down at my mama's new grave, with the earth freshly piled over her and creatin' a little hill that causes my heart to sink like a dead weight in my chest just by lookin' at it. And then, before I can succumb to the tears that have already started prickin' at my eyes, my uncle grabs my hand and turns me around so that the two of us can begin walkin' back to the cart and buggy he brought to the service to head on home.

I would be lyin' if I said I was ready to leave this life behind, and never look back.

…...

(West Virginia, December 1877)

Surprisingly enough, it takes me relatively little time to adjust to livin' at my uncle's house, even in spite of the fact that the ache of my mama's passin' seems absolutely reluctant to fully go away. He keeps me busy, though, figurin' that havin' an extra pair of hands around when a new patient came through the door'll be more of a help than a hindrance. And, in a way, I find that I am welcomin' the work, seein' as it gives me somethin' to pay attention to aside from the pain of bein' left almost completely alone in the world—

With all the new things I've been learnin' just by watchin' my uncle, it's almost as though I have no time in the day for grievin'.

Of course, a part of helpin' my uncle involved runnin' back and forth to the store to fetch him supplies, my heart swellin' a bit with pride each time he sent me off on my own to run his errands. I s'pose even though I'm only thirteen, he reckons I'm mature enough to handle it—and for what it's worth, I'm honestly rather grateful that he feels that way.

Today happens to be one of the days I'm sent off to retrieve supplies for him, with an extra bit of spendin' money to pick up some lunch as well, though I know better than to get the food before the supplies he needs so fiercely. Linen for bandages—morphine for pain—alcohol for antiseptic—those are only a small portion of the list I've been trying to memorize by constantly recitin' it to myself as I move along down the street. And that's when it happens. I'm roundin' the corner sayin' my little list to myself for the hundredth time, only to collide with a tall, blond-haired boy that's movin' in the opposite direction.

"Hey, watch where you're goin'!"

"I was!" I exclaim; bouncin' back on my heels, and flailin' my arms a bit to keep my balance before lookin' up at the person that so abruptly interrupted my mornin' "Seems to me like you were—oh"

"Lanie?"

"Yeah. That's me" I supply; my eyes widenin' a bit as I realize the boy I've just collided with is the very same one I met nearly half a year ago "Will? Will Hatfield?"

"Yep."

"Well I'm sorry for runnin' into you but I've got to get to the store—"

"How 'bout I come with ya?" Will persists; stunnin' me with the determination in his assertion, and renderin' me speechless with the sudden rebound in his demeanor "Maybe I could help ya carryin' stuff."

"I've been doin' this on my own for a week, now."

"An' maybe this time I can help."

Aware that I'm not likely to win this argument, no matter how hard I try, I force myself to simply nod, and continue movin' down the road, the length of Will's strides outdoin' mine, and causin' me to have to jog a bit just to catch up. If I were a bigger person, I would probably be able to pretend that I'm not just the least bit aggravated with his interference, 'specially as it has my breath puffin' out of my lungs at the exertion.

That fact alone is enough to have me relatively against the idea of behavin' as my mama would've expected me to, my words perhaps harder than they ought to have been as I catch my breath enough to speak.

"Don't you have your own errands to run?"

"My pa's at the store, too, so—"

"So you'll just follow me there" I finish; glancing up at where Will walks beside me, and notin' with some surprise that his expression has shifted into somethin' of a smirk before he replies.

"I'll just follow ya there."

Resigned to my companion, such as he is, I have no choice but to continue walkin' towards the store, Will's arm occasionally brushin' against my own when someone passes us, and forces him to move aside. One of those particular people brushes against him rather harshly, causin' him to bump against me, and consequently knockin' me against the storefront at my side—

If I had known the hell that Will's hand graspin' at my arm to keep me from fallin' would've caused, I might've just shrugged him off and crumpled to the ground, instead.

"What're you doin' touchin' my sister's friend like that?" The boy that just passed us demands; causin' my eyes to narrow as I realize he was a part of the reason I took to stumblin' in the first place "You got no right—"

"Seems to me I got every right. You're the one who damn near pushed her down."

"I was walkin' down the street" The boy persists; squarin' his shoulders and steppin' right up to Will's lankier frame in a gesture that jolts me from the distraction of my near-fall, and finally gives me the ability to recognize him, an' step forward myself.

I don't even dare to question what it was that had me so distracted I couldn't recognize my best friend's older brother until this very moment…

"Tolbert McCoy?"

"You'll wanna be getting' away from him, Lanie" The redhead spits out; shiftin' a bit on his feet, and grantin' me a view of where Roseanna hovers by the family's wagon, with Calvin, at her side "Give him much of a chance, an' he'll hurt ya again."

"He didn't hurt me, Tolbert" I protest; tryin' to step between the two boys, and realizin' as I do so that Will is latchin' onto my wrist again to pull me behind him "Will, I think—I think you should let me go."

"You should do as she says, Hatfield, 'less you wanna get yourself in a whole world a' trouble."

"Shut it, McCoy. She's walkin' with me."

"An' now she'll be walkin' with us" Tolbert argues; reachin' forward as though intendin' to grab me right out from under Will, and actually havin' the gall to act upset when Will pushes him back in two seconds flat.

"Don't you touch her!"

"Exactly what in hell is goin' on out here?"

Just the sound of Devil Anse Hatfield's voice is enough to have us all freezin' in place, it seems, though Will's hand still remains clutchin' at my wrist. Just for a moment, I attempt to tug away, until the sight of Johnse appearin' behind his pa renders me motionless once again. Curiosity weighs heavily on his features as he glances between me, an' his brother, before finally driftin' down to where Will's hand rests around my wrist—

Seems that's enough to have Will droppin' my hand like a hot potato, his shoulders squarin' a bit before he talks to his pa.

"Tolbert's just bein' an ass like always—"

"You'll watch your language when you're speakin' in front of a lady, boy" Anse orders; the vehemence in his tone causin' me to flinch, before I come to the realization that his attention is now restin' directly on me "You alright, Lanie?"

"Yes, sir, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Of course she's sure, I ain't done nothin' to her!"

"Thought I told you to shut it, McCoy" Will growls; squarin' his shoulders in spite of the shrewd glance his pa is levelin' his way, and steppin' just a bit closer to me as though set on defyin' good sense. I can tell that just by doin' so, he's got Tolbert McCoy exactly where he wants him, the muscle in his jaw clenchin' as he steps towards me as well, with his chin juttin' out in open challenge.

I suppose that might explain why my hand is instinctively seekin' his again, my own shock at the act causin' me to flush until another, familiar voice, reaches my ears from behind where I stand, and has me turnin' my head a bit to see who it belongs to.

"Where'd your boy get the idea he can boss mine around, Hatfield?"

Well ain't that wonderful—Randall McCoy joins the fray.

"Way I see it, he's not bossin'. Just protectin' a friend."

"Protectin' a friend who's known my family longer'n she's known yours" Randall interjects; glancin' towards me, and cocking his head towards where Rosanna and Calvin are still standin', givin' me no doubt that I am to venture over there, out of harm's way "Go on, Lanie. Roseanna'll get you back to your uncle once you get what ya need at the store."

Realizin' that I'm effectively caught between a rock and a hard place, I sidle away from my place beside Will, and head over towards Roseanna and her darker haired brother, my cheeks blazin' in response to the hushed voices quarrelin' back and forth behind me. I can tell, without even lookin', that Anse and Randall are confrontin' each other, likely about what just happened, or maybe even somethin' more complex. And once again, I find my mama's words echoin' in my mind, warnin' me to stay away from the Hatfields as though my life depended on it.

Little did I know this was only the beginnin' of the end—

…

"He hurt ya, Lanie?" Calvin asks; his dark eyes concerned as he reaches forward to brush a stray lock of auburn hair away from my face while I shake my head in obvious denial. If I'm bein' honest, the gesture stuns me for a moment, so that I'm left with nothin' to do but chew at my lower lip, and duck my head so that I don't have to be lookin' him in the eye, my throat seemin' to stick together for a second before I can finally speak.

"I'm fine, Calvin."

"Ya sure?"

"He hardly touched me, I promise."

"Don't look like that from where I'm standin'" Calvin protests; droppin' his hand back to his side, and givin' me the liberty to move back a bit 'til my shoulder bumps against Roseanna's "Damned Hatfield—"

"He didn't do anythin' Calvin, don't talk 'bout him like that" I insist; aware of how his expression darkens in response to my demand, and shrinkin' back a bit as a result. For a moment, my attention darts back across the street, to where Devil Anse, and Randall McCoy are still intercedin' on behalf of both William, and Tolbert—but before I can make any attempt at figurin' out what they are sayin', Calvin's hand latches onto my own, givin' it a gentle squeeze before leadin' me, and consequently Roseanna as well, towards the store so I can gather my supplies. Briefly, I glance back at Will, for just long enough to realize that he is glarin' at Calvin as though his life depended on it. But just as I am about to call out to him, wantin' to reassure him that I don't blame him for any of this, no matter what it looks like, Calvin's hand tightens on my own, promptin' me to turn back around and step into the store without another thought. Although I certainly wasn't expectin' the contact, it doesn't occur to me to remove my hand from his, even with the way Roseanna keeps lookin' at me as though she wants to ask me somethin' important.

I can only imagine she'll be interogatin' me at some point on the ride home.

Shovin' that thought from my mind for the time bein', I set about the task of gatherin' what my uncle instructed me to purchase from the store, roamin' about from shelf to shelf with Roseanna at my side, and Calvin hoverin' around behind us. Instinctively, I keep castin' glances back at him, our eyes meetin' every so often, and causin' me to blush. And while my mind is still half fixed on worryin' over what might still be goin' on between Anse Hatfield and Randall McCoy, I do what I can to force those worries aside, my stomach doin' a funny little lurch as Roseanna's curious voice breaks me away from my thoughts.

"What were ya doin' walkin' with a Hatfield anyway?"

"It wasn't like I decided to when I woke up this mornin', Roseanna" I protest; shiftin' the fabric that I'll probably end up makin' into strips for bandages later on in my arms, and leanin' up on tiptoe to peer at the vials arranged alphabetically on the top shelf "I bumped into him is all, an' he decided to walk with me to the store."

"Til you ran into Tolbert" Roseanna adds; nudgin' me in the arm, and provokin' an amused huff in response before elaboratin' further "Maybe if I hadn't said I saw ya, he wouldn't have noticed."

"Maybe he still would've."

"You—you're not angry with me?"

"Why would I be?" I ask; frownin' a bit as I scan each of the labels on the vials in search of the morphine that my uncle needed for his patients comin' in with more severe injuries "You didn't do anythin' wrong."

"I was just tryin' to protect ya" Roseanna explains; placin' a hand on my shoulder as I reach for one of the bottles, and givin' it a light squeeze before goin' on "I didn't mean to step outta line."

"If you're worried about anyone bein' outta line it was Tolbert."

"He was protectin' ya too, ya know."

"Yeah, but why?" I demand; shiftin' the fabric an' the new bottle of morphine in my arms, and turnin' to face Roseanna directly with one brow lifted in obvious doubt of her certainty "Why's he so determined to protect me when he hardly knows me?"

"You're my best friend, Lanie. An' there's—well—"

"What?"

"It's nothin'."

"Clearly it ain't nothin', Roseanna."

"This time 'round, it is" My friend insists; determination lacin' her tone, and stunnin' me for a moment as I catch her shootin' a look at Calvin, who is now riflin' through a shelf of powders an' salves as though he truly knows what he's lookin' for "Trust me, Lanie. Please?"

"Okay."

The problem solved, or at least seemin' to be on the surface, we spend the remainder of our time in the store in a relatively comfortable silence, Roseanna helpin' me to carry some of my items up to the counter for purchase while Calvin stands at my other side. The way he's hoverin', it's almost as though he expects Devil Anse an' his son to come bargin' through the doors and start another confrontation. But before I can say anythin' to ease his obvious nerves, Roseanna is nudgin' me to call my attention to the fact that the items I've been gatherin' for my uncle are now secured in neat little paper bags, her blue eyes travellin' between me an' her brother for a moment before she speaks.

"We should get back to the cart, or Pa'll get worried."

Realizin' she's probably right, I reach for the bags, my hand brushin' against Calvin's as he does the same, and causin' a blush to adorn my cheeks as he gives me a small smile. Suddenly, it becomes clear to me what Roseanna might've meant when she hinted at somethin' else bein' a reason for Tolbert decidin' to attempt to protect me.

And though a part of me is honestly a bit taken aback, I would've been lyin' if I said the attention wasn't welcome, 'specially since he didn't act as though he was entitled to it, as Will Hatfield did…

…

"Randall McCoy tells me you had yourself at the center of an argument in town today" My uncle states; glancin' at me from across the dinner table, and failin' to entirely suppress a smile as he watches my reaction with unnatural interest "What on earth did you do, darlin'?"

"I didn't do a thing, Uncle Elliott. I was just walkin' through town to the store to get supplies, like you asked!"

"An' getting' in between the Hatfields an' McCoys in the process."

"S'not like I tried to" I protest; pickin' a bit at the piece of chicken that still remains on my plate, and avertin' my eyes so that my uncle cannot see how disturbed I am by the day's events "Will an' Tolbert would've been after each other even if I wasn't there, I reckon."

"Reckon you're right" Uncle Elliott admits; returnin' his gaze to his own plate, and usin' his fork to shove around a few beans before speakin' again "But that don't mean you shouldn't still be careful."

"I know, Uncle Elliott—"

"Don't just tell me you know, darlin'. Show me. Show me that steady head on your shoulders that I always see when we're with a patient. You don't need to be gettin' mixed up in somethin' you don't understand."

"I'm not plannin' on gettin' involved in anythin', I promise" I assure him; instinct promptin' me to reach across the table to squeeze my uncle's hand "But you—you doctor men an' women on both sides, don't you?"

"Both sides, Lanie. That's the key. I take care of both sides, that way none of 'em can turn against us."

Realization must've dawned in my features, on account of how my uncle manages a simple nod and squeezes my hand a second time, his expression relaxin' just a bit as he returns to his meal with renewed enthusiasm. It's plain to me that he does what he does as a means of protectin' not only himself, but me, as well. And although the idea of that protection even bein' necessary has a bolt of hot dread coilin' through my belly, I force the sensation aside, my attention turnin' to the task of clearin' the table as I realize my uncle is finished with his peas, and is likely expectin' dessert.

Just like my uncle has his duties, I know full well that I have my own, and clearin' the table for one of his favorite pies as a treat is one of 'em.

…


	4. Push and Pull

(West Virginia, May 1878)

One particular Sunday mornin', after returnin' from church, I find that I am interrupted in the act of workin' on some sewin' by a gentle knock upon the door, my brow furrowin' a bit as I set the needlework aside, and rise to stand. My hands smooth idly at the brand new skirt my uncle gave me for my fourteenth birthday not four days past, while my shoes make hollow thumps against the floorboards as I head towards the door. In truth, I haven't got the faintest idea who might be callin' on us, 'specially since it's common knowledge my uncle doesn't do business on Sunday's 'cept in extreme emergencies. Even so, I'd be a liar if I pretended I wasn't curious, my eyes dartin' to the mirror in the hall to make sure my red hair isn't too topsy-turvy before I square my shoulders and open the door.

"Calvin McCoy?"

"Last I checked, yeah" My unexpected visitor replies; laughin' a bit at his own attempt at a joke, and provokin' a smile from me, as well, as he removes his hat and steps just a fraction of an inch closer "I hope I'm not intrudin' on ya."

"No. No, not at all" I assure; steppin' back so that Calvin can come on inside, and squeezin' round his taller frame so I can close the door behind him "Here, let me take your coat."

"Thank ya. I don't—I don't intend to stay long" Calvin explains; handin' me his jacket, and glancin' about the hall for a moment while his hands toy idly with the brim of his hat "You an' your uncle have a nice place, here."

"Thank you."

"Speakin' of your uncle, I—well, I was wonderin' if he was 'round?"

"In the study, I believe" I supply; quirkin' a brow and cockin' my head to the side before inquirin' further "Did—did somethin' happen to your family?"

"No, it ain't nothin' like that. I just—well, my pa's outside, an' told me to ask Doc if I could take ya back to visit with Roseanna, truth be told."

"Is she alright?"

"Course she is" Calvin assures me; his expression softenin' just a bit as he reaches forward and places a hand on my shoulder to give it a squeeze "She just misses ya is all. She ain't seen ya for much more than a few minutes at a time since ya moved here."

"Oh, well if you just give me a minute, I'll get my uncle—"

"Thank ya, Lanie."

"You're welcome" I call; walkin' quickly towards my uncle's study, and failin' to entirely suppress my excitement at the prospect of seein' my friend for longer than just a happenstance meetin' in town. Before I know it, I'm at the door, lookin' at my uncle as he scribbles somethin' on a piece of paper, while his other hand lifts a glass of bourbon to his lips. A part of me is hesitant to interrupt him, 'specially seein' as I know he more often than not gets so absorbed in his work that he doesn't even notice anyone else is around. But a greater part is anxious to see if he'll agree to sparin' me for the day so I can go see my friend, my heart racin' just a bit as I clear my throat as gently as I can before I speak.

"Uncle Elliott? Calvin McCoy is in the hall wantin' a word with you—"

"Of course, of course" My uncle replies; downin' the last of his bourbon, and placin' the glass on his desk with a soft thud before risin' to stand and movin' towards the doorway so that I have to shift to the side for him to pass "Why don't you have him come into the parlor, darlin'?"

Noddin', and headin' back towards the hall where I left Calvin to wait for me, I find that he's taken to pacin' the floor as though on edge, though for what reason, I haven't the faintest idea. For just a moment, as he realizes I'm facin' him, my head tiltin' to the side in obvious confusion, Calvin freezes, his eyes blown wide and his cheeks flushin' just a bit as well. But before I can say anythin' about what my uncle has requested of us both, his expression changes, his gaze droppin' to the floor while he clears his throat, and I attempt to fix the silence that's risin' up between us.

"My—my uncle's askin' if you want to come into the parlor."

"Of course."

Turnin' on a heel before Calvin can say anythin' else, I lead him toward the parlor and smooth my hands on my skirt again, surprise movin' through me at how those hands have taken to tremblin'. Truly, I can't explain it. Why I'm suddenly so nervous, when before I was calmer than I really had any right to be, given how the run in in town was still weighin' heavy on my mind.

I need to settle myself before my uncle notices somethin's amiss, and decides to question me on it himself.

With that in mind, I square my shoulders, and move further into the parlor before givin' my uncle a tentative smile, his attention restin' on me for only a moment before it turns to where Calvin has entered behind me so that he can address him more directly.

"Eleanor tells me you want to speak with me, son?"

"I—I do, sir" Calvin murmurs; once again fiddlin' with the brim of his hat, and glancin' at me for a moment as though waitin' for reinforcement, which I surprisingly give him easily in the form of a genuine smile "My pa sent me to ask your permission to bring Lanie—ah—Miss Rutherford back to our place to visit with Roseanna."

"Today?"

"Well—if that would not be too much trouble."

"I have no patients" My uncle admits; sendin' me a sly smile that has my stomach flippin' over unexpectedly before he turns his attention back to Calvin and inclines his head in his direction "An' near as I can tell, as long as she doesn't object, it'd be more than fine for you to take my girl to see her friend."

"I don't object, Uncle Elliott."

"Then go an' get yourself ready, darlin'. I'll entertain young Mister McCoy here, while you're gone."

Managin' a nod, I turn and head back towards the hall, and consequently the stairs, takin' the steps as quickly as I can so I can grab my shawl, and hat, and venture back downstairs. But before I am fully out of earshot of the parlor, I can't help but hear my uncle speakin' to Calvin McCoy, his voice carryin' a hint of somethin' almost conspiratorial in spite of his obvious desire to hide it.

"You came here for more than just askin' my permission to take Eleanor to see your sister, didn't ya, son?"

"Yes sir. Yes, I—I did."

…

The journey across the Tug is an easy one; in spite of how I cannot seem to contain my enthusiasm at havin' been granted permission to stay at Roseanna's for the night, and most of the followin' day as well. In truth, I'm very near to bouncin' up and down in the seat alongside Calvin, our conversation carryin' on easily enough, in spite of the nerves that plagued the both of us not one hour before. Even the sight of William Hatfield and his father walkin' out of the general store, lookin' at the two of us as we pass isn't enough to dull the mood, my eyes only meetin' Will's for a moment before Calvin says somethin' that has my attention back on him as easily as though nothin' else ever existed.

"Roseanna's sure gonna be excited to see ya."

"I'm excited to see her" I agree; bouncin' a bit in my seat, and consequently bumpin' against Calvin's arm as a result "Thank you for—for comin' to get me."

"S'not a problem. It was my pa's idea."

"Don't you listen to him, Lanie. Calvin's just bein' modest" Randall McCoy instructs; tiltin' his head toward me just a bit and givin' me a faint smile before turnin' his attention back to the road, and slappin' the reins against the horse's flanks "I suppose I can't complain about that, 'specially when thinkin' about some of his brothers."

"Pa—"

"Don't 'Pa' me, Calvin, your friend knows well enough what they're like."

Smilin' to myself as I avert my eyes to where my hands rest, folded in my lap, just as the wagon hits another bump in the road, causin' my shoulder to jostle against Calvin's as a result. Whether I like it or not, Randall McCoy's remark has my mind strayin' back to how Tolbert in particular seemed just one short step away from flyin' off the handle at any given moment—and of course it doesn't take long for me to laugh in spite of my desire to avoid it, my eyes meetin' Calvin's curious gaze as he uses my expression of amusement as a means for further conversation.

"You're thinkin' about Tolbert, aren't ya?"

"Well I'm pretty sure he's the one your pa was talkin' about."

"How d'ya know he wasn't talkin' about me?"

"Because I know you, Calvin McCoy. You're 'bout the furthest thing from prideful that I've ever seen."

If I hadn't been lookin' right at him, I might not have noticed how fiercely he's blushin' at my remark, his eyes dartin' away from my own and fixin' themselves on his pa's back instead as though if he looks at me for just a second longer, he'll burn to dust. For a moment, I almost regret sayin' anything at all, since I have no idea what to do with the situation I seem to have created. But before I can spend too much time distracted by my waverin' thoughts, Calvin's hand reaches for my own and gives it a small squeeze, his eyes meetin' my own once again and causin' me to scoot just a bit closer to him in response.

His pa's presence notwithstandin', somethin' about the way his hand holds mine is enough to have me relaxin' into some semblance of ease, my eyes dartin' towards the small homestead that appears ahead of us, and causes me to break into another grin as I realize Roseanna is standin' on the front step waitin' for me.

I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't feelin' more excited than I had in months at the prospect of seein' my friend for longer than a few moments spent in passin'…

…

"I can't believe your uncle's lettin' you stay a whole two days with us" Roseanna exclaims; shootin' me a smile from her place across the table as we both work at kneadin' some dough for her mama to make into biscuits for supper "It seems too good to be true."

"Apparently he doesn't see too many patient's comin' in between now an' tomorrow" I reply; managin' a smile of my own before wrinklin' my nose as flour poofs up from the table and threatens to make me sneeze "An' he said somethin' about sendin' after me if somethin' changed."

"Well I for one hope he don't."

"Roseanna McCoy, you take that back. If Eleanor's uncle needs her, we will certainly oblige" Sally scolds; her own hands busy shellin' peas, though that doesn't stop her from glancin' at her daughter with a look that would have me quakin' in my shoes, but for the twitch at the corner of her mouth that signifies an encroachin' smile "She has her duties, same as you."

"But Mama—"

"Don't 'but Mama' me, young lady, you know a woman's work is never done."

"Well I certainly hope I can be helpin' you for as long as I can" I interject; catchin' how Roseanna is now bitin' her lip to keep from laughin', and suppressin' my own smile as I glance down at the flour that is half-coatin' my hands while I work with the dough "I've—I've missed you."

"And we have missed you, darlin'. You can be certain of that" Sally assures me; glancin' up from her work on the peas for just long enough to note Randall walkin' through the front door and removin' his hat, followed closely by their sons.

"Well look who it is—everyone's favorite little woman, who got too uppity for us folks this side a' the Tug" Tolbert McCoy quips; reachin' over to flick at the knot of red curls that are tied haphazardly at the base of my neck, and causin' me to flinch and swat him away with a flour-covered hand "Thought you didn't have time for us no more now that you're friends with Hatfields."

"Tolbert—"

"What? I'm just speakin' the truth."

"Leave your sister's friend be, and go get cleaned up for supper. Tell your brothers and your pa to do the same."

Surprisingly enough, Tolbert actually obeys, heavy footsteps smackin' against the wood floorboards as he follows Bud and Pharmer to the room just off the kitchen. Though he seems to have willingly chosen to listen to his mama's instruction, somethin' on my face must indicate that I am still troubled, seein' as Roseanna has abandoned her own kneadin' to move around the table and loop her arm through my own.

"He doesn't mean it you know. Not really."

"I know."

"Then why're you lookin' so down?"

"This discord between our families" Sally states; surprisin' me with the ease with which she cuts to the heart of what has me so troubled, and causin' me to flinch unexpectedly as she crosses the room to stand at my side opposite her daughter, and pats me on the hand as a means of providin' reassurance "I won't tell ya to stay away from the Hatfields, Lanie, but I will promise my husband an' my boys will protect ya from any that try to do ya harm."

"Missus McCoy—" I protest; my cheeks flushin' in response to her offer, as I simultaneously fight against a bolt of dread that she really does mean every word "You don't have to—to do that—"

"Nonsense, darlin'. You oughta know how much you mean to me an' my family."

Unable to do anythin' but offer her a smile, and lean into her side as she pulls me into a one-armed embrace, I find that I am settlin' against her rather easily, her warmth remindin' me of my own mama so fiercely that for a moment, I come very near to tears. To be honest, I'm not too sure what has me keepin' those tears at bay, 'specially since I can feel them burnin' at my eyes as though they want nothin' more than to be free. But before I can fully come to terms with my reaction, and how it unnerves me, I am forced back to the present by the sound of the front door openin' once again, the sound causin' me to jolt away from my place nestled against Sally McCoy's side as Randall appears in the doorframe, followed closely by Calvin and Jim.

"Dinner ready?"

"Nearly" Sally replies; tossin' the last of the peas into the bowl she swiped from the counter top, and shooin' me and Roseanna away from the table with a wave of her hand so that she could inspect our handiwork with the dough we had been kneadin' herself "Girls, why don't you go an' wash up, an' then you can help Alifair set the table."

"Yeah, Mama."

Followin' after Roseanna, after shootin' her mama a smile that I hope is sufficient thanks for lettin' me stay with them and eat at their table, I can't help but feel myself drawn back to what Tolbert said, 'bout me bein' too good for their family. I certainly don't think of myself that way, though I can't entirely say I'm surprised about him comin' to that conclusion, regardless.

He saw me walkin' with Will Hatfield, same as Roseanna did, an' I know well enough that he would've formed an opinion about that very fact no matter what I did to stop it.

I can't quite fathom a way to prevent my expression from showin' exactly how much that thought troubles me, though a part of me isn't entirely dedicated to makin' the attempt to begin with. Though I don't really know Tolbert that well, at least when it compares to how I know his sister, I still know enough to realize that nothin' I say is ever likely to sway him from an opinion once he's come to it—

And that opinion is even more likely to be set in stone when it concerns anyone with the last name of Hatfield.

"Lanie? What's wrong?" Roseanna asks; the softness of the concern in her voice effectively joltin' me out of my thoughts, and causin' me to flounder a bit for a means of replyin' without causin' her undue alarm. I should be happy to have this time with her—thrilled that I have a moment to simply be with my friend, without worryin' about anythin' else at all. An' yet here I am, chewin' at my lower lip as though my life depends on it, while my arms cross over my chest in some half-hearted attempt at self-defense.

"I'm fine. Promise."

"Lanie—"

"Roseanna, don't" I press; silently cursin' how my voice cracks in spite of my desire to avoid it, and wettin' my lips with my tongue for a moment as though I think it'll really stand a chance at settlin' my upended nerves "I'll be fine, I just—I need a minute."

"Then take your minute. Take as long as you need. But you ain't doin' it alone."

Relief, sudden and potent, sweeps over me almost as soon as Roseanna is done speakin', my hand reachin' for hers on instinct so that I can twine my fingers through her own. Her silent acceptance of my mood, such as it is, means more to me than I can possibly put into words. And although I know that I have no business doin' so, 'specially seein' as I hardly have an understandin' of what caused it to begin with, I find that I am squeezin' Roseanna's hand as tightly as I can, the gesture only seemin' friendly to her, even though to me it means somethin' entirely different. Even though my uncle is always advisin' me against it, I may have just chosen a side—

Kindness or not, the McCoys had somethin' that the Hatfields didn't, an' I wasn't about to let anythin' pull me away from my best friend, no matter what it might cost me in the process.

…

The followin' mornin', I find myself seated between Roseanna and Alifair at one of the tables situated in the McCoy's kitchen, our attention bent to the task of eatin' the breakfast that Missus McCoy prepared, with only the sounds of scrapin' knives and forks accompanyin' the task at hand. In contrast to how I felt the evenin' prior, now all I can manage to acknowledge is a content sense of peace, my shoulder occasionally brushin' against my friend's as we reach for cold glasses of milk, or just one more small helpin' of bread. I'm even able to give Tolbert a faint smile as he walks 'round my spot to the other side of the table, and ruffles my red curls with a large hand in the process. Of course I'm not foolish enough to forget his remark from yesterday, even in spite of how he seems to have done exactly that. But even with that memory, I can't entirely find it within myself to get back to worryin' about it now, my attention shiftin' to where Calvin sits beside his older brother Jim as I realize the former is startin' to speak.

"Ya sleep good, Lanie?"

"Calvin, what on earth kinda question is that?" Sally McCoy demands; reachin' over with the wooden spoon she's holdin' and swattin' her son gently on the shoulder by way of providin' criticism "It certainly ain't a proper one."

"Sorry, Mama."

"S'not me you should be apologizin' to."

"Really, Missus McCoy, it's fine" I hurry to interject; aware of Calvin's stunned expression, but choosin' to ignore it as I fall under the impact of Sally McCoy's skeptically raised brow "I—I know Calvin didn't mean anythin' by it."

"Whether he did or not, he's still obligated to be polite to a guest under this roof. An' that includes not bringin' up such talk at the table."

"I'm—I'm sorry, Lanie" Calvin manages; his face flushin' pink, even though I can tell he is tryin' to hide it as he ducks his head down to stare intently at his nearly empty plate. For a reason I cannot fully understand, the gesture has me smilin' faintly, my own cheeks burnin' just a bit as I catch Randall McCoy watchin' me from his own place at the head of the family table. I can't tell, in that moment, whether or not his observation is approvin', or a warnin', though given my previously calm mood, I am not entirely willin' to consider the latter.

After all, with the way Sally is smilin' at me as she pours more milk into my glass, I know that I have at least one of Roseanna's parents on my side, even if the other is still wary of my associations just one day before.

Of course, just as I manage to come to this conclusion, the sound of poundin' footsteps on the wooden boards of the front porch effectively garners the attention of everyone in the room, Randall's chair scrapin' back as he moves to stand, and heads towards the door. Roseanna catches my eye, after watchin' her pa departs from the table, as though she is tryin' to discern if I have any more insight as to the slight tension in his movements than she does. But of course, I am as clueless as she is, my palms startin' to sweat and causin' me to smooth them against the fabric of my skirt before I, too, am risin' to stand while Randall opens the door.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mister McCoy, but Doc Rutherford's sent me to fetch his niece."

"What for?"

"Didn't say, sir. Jus' said I was to bring her back soon as I could. Near as I can tell someone's been injured in a loggin' accident."

"I'll send my son Jim 'long with ya" Randall decides; the suddenness of his remark causin' both Jim and I to flinch, albeit for slightly different reasons "I won't be trustin' the girl in the care of a man I don't know from Adam."

Whether the man intends to object or not, he has no chance to, as Randall steps back from the door, and levels a gaze at Jim that dictates he ought to get movin'. For a moment, I remain where I am, obviously confused as I had half expected Randall to send Calvin along with me on the journey back home.

Whether or not I'm disappointed by the realization that I won't be makin' the journey with Calvin at my side, though, I don't dare show it, 'specially since Randall is now eyein' me as though suspicious of how I haven't immediately followed after both Jim and the man that came after me in the first place. Jolted into awareness by that realization, I turn back to give Roseanna one last hug, her arms windin' around my waist far more tightly than I expected while she whispers softly in my ear.

"Don't take so long comin' back, Lanie. We miss ya."

"I'll try, Roseanna" I reply; before pullin' away an' headin' over to the doorway to follow after Jim and the stranger my uncle sent for me. Truthfully, I'm a bit saddened by the abrupt shortenin' of my visit with my friend and her family, even if for no other reason than the fact that I had missed her far more than I dared to admit since movin' to live with my uncle. But even though I'm reluctant to leave her, a part of me is already itchin' with the prospect of helpin' my uncle again, my mind already turnin' towards exactly what it was that'll greet me when I walk through the front door.

I know now that I am far too intrigued by my uncle's line of work for my own good…

…

The eagerness I am feelin' to get back to my uncle and help him however I can has me near to bouncin' in my seat as the wagon jolts into town, the act causin' me to bump into Jim's side, and provokin' a laugh from him as he reaches a hand out to stop me from fallin'.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were excited to be leavin' us."

"I—no! No, I'm not" I protest; cranin' my neck just a bit to look up at him, and realizin' that he's smilin' at me, and clearly not meanin' anythin' to be serious "But you knew that."

"I did. Though I'd be lyin' if I pretended to understand what you're thinkin'."

"What I'm thinkin'?"

"Bout what your uncle's doin' I mean" Jim clarifies; glancin' at the man who had been sent to retrieve me as he rides alongside us, as though to make sure he can't hear what we're talkin' about very clearly "It's just—well, forgive me for intrudin', but it ain't exactly normal work for a woman."

"I s'pose it's fortunate most of society considers me to still be a girl, then."

Apparently unable to restrain a laugh at my comment, Jim simply settles for shakin' his head, his hands joltin' the reins against the horse's flanks as we round the corner and my uncle's home comes into view. Another wagon rests just outside the door, an unfamiliar man standin' beside it, likely to keep the horses peacable. And although I can't recognize him, somethin' in the way he stands by the wagon, as though darin' anyone to approach has me freezin', my mind only catchin' how our own wagon has come to a halt as I realize Jim has placed his hand upon my shoulder while his brow furrows in concern.

"Miss Eleanor? You alright?"

Shakin' myself in response to the inquiry, I manage a nod, and a grateful smile while Jim hops down from the wagon and extends a hand for me to take as I do the same. The movement seems to draw the attention of the stranger by the other wagon, his eyes narrowin' as he looks at me as though judgin' me for everythin' and nothin' all at the same time. My gaze fixes on him, for a moment, dim recognition ticklin' at my mind, even though it is still not enough for a full return of the memory that is so obviously wantin' to break free. But before I can spend any more time lookin' at him, I feel the gentle pressure of Jim's hand on my arm, now, the contact promptin' me to follow him towards the door of my uncle's home, and preventin' me from seein' exactly how he has taken to eyein' the man that stands beside the wagon as we pass.

If I had, maybe I would've been more prepared for the sight that met my eyes almost as soon as I enter the door…

My uncle, like always, has already sequestered his patient in the back room, next door to his study, though even that distance from room to front door does not alleviate the occasional moans of pain that echo through the house like someone is bangin' on a steel gong. Somethin' about them chills me, in spite of the fact that I am no stranger to a patient in pain—just as somethin' else stops me from hurryin' to the back room to join my uncle and see what he needs, a tall figure effectively blockin' my path, and forcin' me to the realization that Jim has now ceased his hoverin' at my side in favor of movin' to stand just before me.

"You'll go no further, Jim. Jus' Lanie from here on out."

"Who's back there with Doc?" Jim inquires; not flinchin' even in the face of the drawn expression that's taken over Devil Anse Hatfield's features, as though he's just itchin' for a fight to let off some steam. Just lookin' at him has dread coilin' through my veins, tuggin' at my nerves, and causin' me to step 'round Jim and look at Devil Anse straight on.

"Jim was just seein' that I got home safe. I was stayin' with Roseanna an' his family" I state; unsure if the surprisingly hard edge of defiance in my tone has more to do with my own taut nerves, or a growin' frustration with this feud that seems determined to consume nearly every moment of my life, regardless of whether I am a member of either family or not. Almost in time with my words, yet another pained cry drifts towards us from the back room, the deep hum of my uncle's voice, likely tryin' to comfort the injured party, promptin' me to turn back to Jim, with what I can only hope is an encouragin' expression on my face.

"I'm fine now, Jim. Please, thank—thank your pa for me?"

"I can stay if ya want" He counters; clearly ill at ease over leavin' me in the company of someone as sinister as Devil Anse appears at the present moment, his eyes meetin' mine almost as though he's beggin' me silently to let him stay. But somehow, I know that if he does, the situation will only get worse, my shoulders squarin' just a bit as I shake my head, and reach out to give Jim's hand what I hope is a reassurin' squeeze.

"No, you—you should go back to your family."

Doin' my best to avoid payin' too much attention to how Jim's expression has shifted from tentative hopefulness to somethin' far more worried than I am prepared to confront, I step around him and head back towards where I now know my uncle and his patient reside, only faintly aware of the glance Devil Anse gives me, as though approvin' of my decision to carry on alone. A few more moments of hushed conversation pass between the Hatfield patriarch, and Jim McCoy, my ears strainin' for a hint of whether or not they are still sharin' hostilities, or have finally moved on to other things. Before I have a chance at actually hearin' any of their hushed conversation, though, another ragged cry reaches my ears from the back room, the sound so utterly heart-wrenchin' that it prompts me to abadon my efforts at eavesdroppin' in favor of rushin' into the room, only to freeze in place as soon as I see who it is that is lyin' out on my uncle's examination table.

"W—Will?"

My half-stammered utterance of the patient's name is all my uncle needs to divert his gaze from Will himself, to me, standin' there in the doorway as uselessly as if I were simply another part of the wall. For a moment, I think I see pity in his usually warm eyes—though whether it's pity for the boy on his table, or for what he is about to ask me to do, I can't really tell. But even if I could've read his mind, that still wouldn't have been enough to stop me from steppin' forward almost a half of a second before he speaks to me directly, my hand instinctively searchin' for Will's, and givin' me some level of surprise as he latches on as though I am the only thing that can save him from drownin'.

"Get over here an' give him your hand, Lanie. An' do me a favor an' help hold him still wit' the other."

I am so caught unawares at how fiercely Will is clutchin' at me, that I barely recognize the slightly raised brow of my uncle at how quickly I volunteer myself for the service, before he, too, is settlin' back to the work at hand…

…


	5. Determination

Somehow, I am able to follow my uncle's instructions even in spite of my shakin' hands, my body instinctively movin' to set up a sort of counter-rhythm to his own actions even though inside, my mind was a racin' mess. Mercifully, Will seems to have fallen asleep, whether as a result of somethin' my uncle gave him to ease the pain, or the simple shock of it all finally overwhelmin' his body, I do not know. But whatever it is, I cannot find it within myself to complain, a strange sort of relief settlin' over me as I do what I can to ignore the reality of the patient before me, and focus instead upon the task at hand.

"Ya alright, Lanie?" My uncle asks me then; his eyes strayin' from Will's prone frame for just a moment, so that he can look me over as though I have somehow become injured, myself "Ya look pale as a sheet."

"I'll be alright, Uncle Elliott."

"Ya sure?"

"Yep."

I can tell that he doesn't quite believe me of course, his eyes remainin' on me for a brief moment longer than is really necessary, before he turns them back to Will, and extends a hand to me so that I can hand him the cloth I had been cleanin' in preparation of dressin' the wound. Without hesitation, I hand it over, watchin' carefully as my uncle applies a gentle pressure to the eye and surroundin' skin where we had just taken away the bit of splinter that caused all the damage to begin with.

Uncle Elliott said it would be highly unlikely Will Hatfield would ever regain the use of that eye, and sayin' anythin' other than that the knowledge filled me with a strange sense of sorrow would have been a lie.

I can't explain it—why I feel so awful for a boy I barely know, 'specially seein' as I just spent the day with a girl from a family his own people are feudin' with. Once again, I am forced to the realization that I may just be out of my depth here, my mama's words to me echoin' in my ears as though she stood right beside me in the flesh for what felt like the hundredth time today.

"Count your blessin's that you got on their good side, an' steer clear of 'em in the future if you know what's good for you."

Lord only knows why, but I've been doin' the exact opposite ever since that night when I first met Will an' Johnse Hatfield at the fireworks display.

As though thinkin' of him summons him out of thin air, both my uncle and I find ourselves jumpin' in surprise as the door to his office bangs open, an' Johnse bolts in as though a fire is burnin' at his heels. For a moment, he looks at my uncle, blue eyes searchin' his face for a fraction of a second before they turn to meet my own.

"He gonna be alright, Lanie?"

"He may have lost the sight in the injured eye" Uncle Elliott begins; only to find himself cut off mid-sentence as Johnse takes a step closer towards me, and speaks once again.

"I was askin' Lanie."

"Aside from the eye, I—I think so" I manage; sharin' a glance with my uncle, an' somehow findin' the wherewithal to rise to my feet and approach Johnse directly "But if you want details you should really talk to my uncle."

"You're helpin' him?"

"Have been for a while."

"Then I'll talk to you. Will trusts ya."

"I—he what?"

"He trusts ya" Johnse repeats; his expression seemin' to indicate somethin' of surprise that I am not already inherently aware of this, even though I cannot for the life of me think of any indication that I ought to have already known "Our Pa does, too."

Not unexpectedly, I am rather speechless at such a confession, my cheeks flushin' even in spite of my attempt to avoid it, and causin' me to duck my head down so that Johnse cannot take immediate notice. For a moment, my heart soars over the prospect of havin' the approval of at least some of the Hatfield clan, in spite of how I have not a clue how such a thing came to be in the first place. But almost as suddenly, I am reminded of how I had peremptorily chosen the McCoy family not one day prior, my lips turnin' down just a bit as I find myself once again caught between my own feelins, and the reality of the tightrope that this feud between families has forced me to walk.

"Well I—I'm glad to hear that" I finally say; my voice tremblin' just a bit, and causin' me to flush anew as I avert my eyes from the weight of Johnse's observation, and resumin' my seat beside Will before finding the wherewithal to go on speakin' "He should be able to go back home in a few days."

"That ain't gonna make Mama very happy. She wants her boy home now."

"Tell your mama she can have her boy home, then" My uncle suggests; stunnin' me with his words in light of how just prior to Johnse's arrival, we had been discussin' where we could move Will so he'd be more comfortable 'til he got to go home "But only if she agrees to let Lanie come along with ya."

"Me?"

"Yes, my dear, you" Uncle Elliott confirms; the corners of his mouth twitchin' just a bit in a tell-tale attempt at hidin' a grin, and consequently promptin' me to avert my eyes once more, while he turns his attention to Johnse and addresses him directly "Think that'll be alright?"

"I'm guessin' so, yeah. She can ride back wit' me an' I'll have Pa come wit' the wagon for Will. He'll know not to jostle 'im."

"I suppose he certainly will" My uncle agrees; the weight of his gaze once again turnin' to me as he clears his throat and forces me to look at him directly "Go an' prepare your things, darlin'. No tellin' how long you'll be needin' to stay."

Wordlessly, I manage a small nod before standin' once again and movin' past Johnse to head towards the stairs, my mind jumblin' around against itself as I try to make amends with what has just happened. It seems odd, rushin' off to the Hatfield's home, after just spendin' time with their sworn enemies just one day ago—

But of course I know that I would be a fool to give any inklin' of that reality to Johnse, or any of the rest of his family, while I am under their roof.

With that thought in mind, I square my shoulders and head upstairs as quickly as I can, the soft murmur of my uncle's muted conversation with Johnse hardly hinderin' me at all as I reach my bedroom, and begin the task of choosin' some clothes and other essentials for my unforeseen time away from home. For a moment, I am caught in a sense of déjà vu, seein' as I had done somethin' quite similar not all that long ago, in preparation for stayin' with a different family.

And for some reason that I cannot quite explain, I find myself strayin' back to thoughts of Calvin McCoy, and Roseanna, and what the both of them would likely think if they knew what I was doin' right now…

…

"Mama sure is gonna be surprised to see you" Johnse states; turnin' his head 'round just a bit so that he can level a rather disarmin' smile my way before snappin' the reins again to get his horse to move just a bit faster "She'll probably think you're somethin' of a hero."

"A hero? Johnse, why on earth—" I begin; pullin' back just a bit in spite of how my arms are wound securely about his waist "I'm no hero."

"You're the reason she's gettin' Will back at home, ain't ya?"

"My uncle was the one who agreed to it."

"You coulda said no."

"No, I—no, I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Will's hurt. If it's a choice between goin' home with him to see he's got proper care, or lettin' him go on alone, any sane person'd make the same choice" I assert; the suddenness of Johnse decidin' to speed up the horse causin' me to tighten my hold on him, even with the small flush that rises to my cheeks as a result "I'd do the same for anyone."

"Even the McCoys?"

Freezin' at the unexpected question, I don't even realize that my grip has loosened around Johnse's waist, causin' my hands to drop to my sides, my mind racin' at the thought of how I am goin' to answer this question. No matter the resurgence of the giddy feelin' I have as a result of bein' so close to Johnse Hatfield once again, I am well aware of the potential danger in anythin' less than an honest answer—

I have no way of tellin' whether Johnse is askin' out of simple curiosity, or as a means of findin' out my loyalties, such as they are, and what it might mean for his family.

"Relax, darlin'. I don't hold no grudges 'gainst them, neither."

"You—you don't?"

"Course not" Johnse scoffs; once again turnin' his head 'round as far as he can, and shootin' me a lopsided grin before pullin' on the reins to get the horse to take the path to the left, instead o' the right "Way I see it, s'no reason for our families to not be friends, no matter what happened in the past."

"I have to say, you're surprisin' me, Johnse Hatfield."

"How so?"

"I never expected you to feel that way 'bout the McCoys is all."

"They're jus' people, same as us, ya know."

"I know" I agree; my arms twinin' 'round his waist once again, while a sudden lurch of the horse causes my head to bump square into the spot 'tween his shoulder blades "Sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it, Lanie. Ya can rest your head if ya like. I know ya have to be tired."

"I am, a bit."

"Then go on ahead" Johnse states; leanin' back just a bit so that I can settle against him if I choose, while simultaneously tuggin' on the reins to get our horse to make another turn "Did ya sleep at all once ya got home?"

"No" I reply; leanin' forward as gently as I can, and tentatively restin' my cheek against the fabric of Johnse's shirt, while I pray that he won't be able to feel the heat of my flushin' cheek against his skin "No, I was takin' care of your brother."

"Maybe Mama'll give ya a spot to rest a spell while Pa goes to get Will."

"Maybe."

Even though I really have no way of knowin' how Levicy Hatfield will react when I come walkin' through her door, somethin' in the way Johnse is so dead-sure about what she will do has me relaxin' against him and closin' my eyes for what feels like the first time in ages. The gentle movements of the horse cloppin' down the dirt road, in combination with the warmth of the sun at our backs soon has me dozin' just a bit, my eyelids havin' grown heavier than I thought with tendin' to Will and his injury. It wasn't a lie that I was exhausted, though once I had arrived at the Hatfield's I knew I would have to do my best to pretend the opposite.

I did not dare give the Hatfields any reason to believe that I was not up to the task I had been assigned…

…

"Johnse Hatfield, what business do ya have bringin' this poor girl here when she's so exhausted she's likely to drop over any minute?" Levicy Hatfield scolds; hurryin' over towards me, and usherin' me to a nearby rockin' chair while shootin' a reproachful glance towards her eldest boy "No matter how bad I want Will home, ya coulda let the poor thing sleep a bit 'fore makin' her leave home."

"I'm sorry, Mama—"

"Ya damn well should be. My apologies for the foul language, Lanie."

"It's quite alright, Missus Hatfield" I assure; liftin' my hand to stifle a yawn, and glancin' back at Johnse, who has the good sense to appear at least somewhat remorseful with his hat held loosely in one hand "I'm here to help."

"An' we treat our help better an' most, I can promise ya that" Levicy insists; liftin' the top off a sizable chest that rests next to the chair she has taken me to, an' pullin' out a woolen blanket that she wastes no time in windin' round my shoulders "Your hands are colder than ice."

"They'll warm up soon."

"Johnse'd better hope they do or he'll be hearin' it from me an' his Pa both."

"Really, Missus Hatfield, you don't have to be upset with him. I forgot to grab a warmer set of clothes is all—"

"Mama's just worried 'bout Will, Lanie" Johnse interjects; earnin' himself a rather pointed look from Levicy, an' still not entirely havin' the wisdom to flinch or change course "That's why she's snappin' at me."

"You watch yourself, Johnse Hatfield, or you'll give me a reason to do more than just that."

In spite of the potential harshness in her words, I can tell, somehow, that she does not truly mean them, the corners of her mouth tuggin' up in a smile even with how I can see that she is tryin' her best to avoid it. This is a woman that truly loves her family—that seems to have somehow decided to take me into that family as well, on occasion, with no more sufficient provocation than that she can. And almost in the face of my desire to remain as impartial as I can, a small part of me wants nothin' more than to let her tend to me as a mother does, my mind strayin' to my own mama for a moment, and causin' my features to fall before I can stop them.

"You alright, darlin'?"

"I'm fine. Just—just tired" I begin; noticin' that Levicy has rather effectively caught my eye, and doesn't seem to believe my assertion even for a moment "When'll Mister Hatfield be back?"

"Don't quite know, but I reckon he'll be long enough away for you to get yourself some rest."

"I—I can wait up. I don't want to be out cold when Will gets back, if he needs me."

"We'll wake ya if there's a need" Levicy states; her tone givin' me no chance to contest as she reaches for my hand, and leads me through the sizable room we currently occupy, until we reach another door that opens onto what appears to be a small bedroom "The girls won't be back here til later on after their chores are done, so you can use their bed to get yourself right again."

"You sure, Missus Hatfield? I don't want to be any trouble."

"You, Lanie, are the furthest thing from trouble, an' I won't hear you sayin' otherwise, alright?"

Noddin', and failin' to entirely stifle another yawn, I opt for simply remainin' speechless while Levicy tugs me gently over towards the bed and turns back the covers, my hands still clutchin' at the blanket she gave me just moments prior as I wait for her to move aside before takin' the liberty of sittin' on the edge of the mattress myself. Almost immediately, some of the fight that I've been exertin' to keep myself from appearin' too tired goes out of me, causin' my body to sway just a bit where I sit, an' promptin' Levicy to give me a warm smile before she turns back to the main room of the house, and shuts the door behind her, leavin' me alone for the first time in what felt like forever…

I suppose it really should come as little surprise that as soon as my head hits the pillow, I am fallin' into a surprisingly deep sleep in spite of my desire to remain awake.

…

'Bout two hours later, I find myself wakin' to the sound of hushed conversation, the low rumble of the voices givin' me some indication that Devil Anse might've just returned with Will in tow. Before I can fully stop myself, I find that I am flingin' back the covers that had been tangled 'round my legs and haulin' myself to my feet, my hands draggin' through my hair to soothe its haphazard waves while I make my way to the door. In seconds, I reach for the knob, even though I know that perhaps I ought to wait 'til Levicy comes for me herself, only to come to a stop as I hear a far gruffer, and unfamiliar voice speakin' about me, directly.

"You really think she can help him, Anse? She's jus' a child."

"She is a child trained by Doc Rutherford. That's got to count for somethin'."

"A child that cavorts with McCoys, Levicy. How the hell're we supposed to trust her?"

"You can trust me. I would never do anythin' to hurt Will" I state; my voice surprisingly self-assured as I step out into the room, in spite of the apprehension I feel as I realize that everyone's eyes have now turned directly to me "I wouldn't."

"You sure 'bout that, girl? 'Cause he just happens to be my nephew—"

"It doesn't matter whose nephew he is, sir. I want to help."

"Well look at that, Anse. She's got stones, even for bein' a girl."

"Leave her be, Jim" Devil Anse Hatfield orders; removin' his pipe from its place 'tween his lips, and steppin' forward amidst a cloud of smoke to speak to me directly "Your uncle tell ya what Will needed to get better again?"

"He did."

"Then soon as you get some water on your face an' wake up a bit more you can go on back."

"Anse—"

"She'll help him get well, Jim, an' that's the end of it."

The matter bein' settled, or at least so it seemed on the surface, I spare one last look at Devil Anse and Levicy before turnin' to head back to the room I was sleepin' in, and movin' over toward the dresser, where a wash basin and towel had been placed without me ever bein' aware. Surprisingly, the coolness of the water does reorient me to my surroundin's just a bit, and I even take a moment to cup my hands together for a sip of the clear liquid, savorin' the feel of it slidin' down my throat before I turn back to the door, and prepare to depart the room once more. I almost hesitate at the door, somethin' in the way the man who called himself 'Jim' spat out the name McCoy sendin' my nerves into a frenzy at the thought of what might just stand to happen to me if I somehow end up failin' in the task I have been sent here for. But before I can fully succumb to my own fears and trepidations, I force myself to step forward, my eyes catchin' Levicy's as I give her a nod, and she heads off in the direction of the staircase at the back of the room without waitin' to see if I will follow. Naturally, of course, I do, hurryin' after her, and skirtin' 'round where Devil Anse, Johnse, an' Jim are still standin', only to find myself brought up short as a rough hand grabs onto my wrist, bringin' me to a dead stop while a gruff voice reaches my ear.

"If I get one inklin' you ain't doin' your best, girl—"

"Jim—" Anse cautions; movin' over to stand at Jim's side, with blue eyes flashin' a warnin', though for once I find that my own determination renders his attempt at defendin' me rather unnecessary.

"You don't have to threaten me to help your nephew, Jim" I state; pullin' my wrist away from his grasp, and findin' myself more than a bit surprised when he gives me the space to move along after Levicy once I finish speakin'.

"I'd be doin' that even if you hadn't come through the door."

I know that if I look back at any one of them, I won't be able to move forward, and so I simply stare straight ahead while climbin' the stairs, my hand shakin' as it lands on the banister, and I find that I am grippin' it with more fervency than anticipated until I clear the landin' and find Levicy standin' outside the nearest doorway.

Tremblin' hands or not, I have a job to do…

…


	6. Healing Begins

I find it surprisingly easy, tendin' to Will with Levicy more often than not at my side, the steadiness of her hands seemin' to instinctively prevent my own from shakin' even in spite of my nerves. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, Jim Vance's warnin' keeps rollin' through my mind, as though the man is still standin' right beside me, glarin' at me for all he's worth. And even as much as I might wish to avoid it, I cannot help but fall prey, once again, to the feelin' that I really do not belong here, my hand freezin' just above Will's eye with the dampened cloth I am holdin', and consequently promptin' Levicy to take notice, and send me an encouragin' smile.

"You're doin' just fine, Lanie."

"Thank you, Missus Hatfield" I manage, aware of the slight burnin' at my cheeks in response to her remark, and yet still choosin' to resume the act of pattin' at the moisture that has continued to pool at the corner of my patient's eye before goin' on "I—I'm glad you think so."

"Why wouldn't I? You're doin' everythin' you can for my boy" Levicy assured, somethin' in the warmth of her tone forcin' me to look at her directly, and allowin' my hand to remain with a gentle pressure against the cloth I am holdin' at Will's eye "Even with certain people expressin' their doubts."

"I don't—I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean Jim, Lanie. You an' I both know that you were already thinkin' of him long before I mentioned his name."

Unable to overtly deny Levicy's assertion, I settle instead for redirectin' my attention to her son, the slight furrow that takes over Will's brow causin' me to frown as I set the cloth aside for a moment so that I can lean forward and brush a stray lock of blond hair away from the injured eye. Though it hardly seems significant to me, somethin' in the gesture clearly prompts Levicy to smile as though it were far more significant than I could quite understand. But before I can really make any attempt at questionin' her over the expression that is now crossin' her face, I find myself once again distracted, this time by the soft groan Will makes as he shifts momentarily before crackin' his uninjured eye open just a bit so that he can look right at me.

"Lanie? What—what're ya doin' here?"

"I—I came here to help ya get better."

"Better?"

"Yeah" I confirm, swallowin' hard as I register the apparent look of confusion that has taken over Will's features, while one of his hands starts to grope blindly for some form of contact—contact which I willingly give, of course, my hand latchin' onto his, and consequently causin' his features to relax while our fingers thread together almost on instinct "You don't—you don't remember anythin'?"

"I—no. I can't—I don't remember—"

"It's okay" I cut in, givin' Will's hand a squeeze, and hopin' beyond hope that even that simple gesture will be enough "You—you were—"

"You were in an accident, darlin'" Levicy supplies, clearly sensin' my hesitation, and perchin' herself on the opposite edge of her son's bed so that she can take his other hand in her own "You were helpin' your Pa fell some trees, and caught a splinter in your eye."

In response to his mother's assertion, Will remains silent for a moment or two, as though he can hardly dare to comprehend the reality of what she has just told him, his brow furrowin' once again while his hand tightens its hold just a bit on my own. Though I did not realize it at first, I must have been holdin' my breath, the sensation of my chest burnin' causin' me to exhale in a rush for just a moment before my attention turns toward my patient once again.

"I—Lanie, I can't—I can't see."

"I know—I know" I stammer, leanin' forward with my hand still held in his, and reachin' forward with the other to smooth a wayward lock of blond hair away from his brow "But you're alright. You're goin' to be just fine, I promise."

"But—I can't see!"

"Lanie's right, Will, ya ought to listen to her" Levicy supplies, surprisin' me with the certainty her words lend to my supposition, while she leans forward herself, and places a soft kiss against her son's brow "Just let us take care of ya, alright?"

Somehow, I can tell that Will isn't entirely convinced by his Mama's plea, though he does at least seem to possess the forethought to avoid protestin' it while she's still in the room, his head turnin' just a bit so that he can look at me more directly before he speaks in a tone that very nearly breaks my heart.

"You—you'll stay wit' me?"

"Of course I will. For as long as your Mama and Pa allow me to" I promise, managin' a faint smile more for Will's benefit than anythin' else as I give his hand another squeeze, and reach for the cloth I had been usin' to dab at his eye just moments before he woke up "But I make no promises as to how quickly they're gonna get tired of me."

"We won't tire of ya, Lanie" Levicy assures, risin' from the edge of the bed to stand far more gracefully than I ever would've been able to, and sendin' me what I can only interpret as an encouragin' smile before she turns to head towards the door "You think you can keep our patient, here, under control while I go tell his Pa he's doin' just fine?"

"Of course I can, Missus Hatfield" I confirm, tearin' my gaze away from Will for just long enough to glance at his Mama, and consequently experiencin' a small jolt of surprise as I come to the realization that she is smilin' at me as though aware of a secret that I will never know "I'll stay right here with him 'til you get back."

With my attention back on Will, I never stood a chance at noticin' the way Levicy's expression softens as she gives us one final glance, before headin' out to find her husband, an' give him the information I'm sure he's been waitin' on since the two of us disappeared into this room in the first place…

…

I'm not entirely sure how long Levicy is really gone, the sound of hushed voices from beyond the bedroom door lullin' Will back to sleep in mere moments, and comin' very near to doin' the same to me. My hand is still clutched in Will's, of course, though his hold has slackened just a bit due to him bein' asleep. But somethin' about the warmth of that hand has me strangely comfortable even in spite of how a part of me is still on edge over bein' in a home with people that don't entirely seem to trust me, at least where Jim Vance is concerned.

I suppose that thought in and of itself is what has me so distracted that I don't even notice the sound of the bedroom door creakin' open and admittin' someone with heavy footfalls until said individual takes it upon himself to speak.

"How's he doin'?"

"I—he's doin' better" I manage, clearin' my throat and glancin' down at where Will's fingers are still twined through my own in an effort to control my sudden nerves as I realize I am in the company of none other than Devil Anse Hatfield in the flesh "His fever's goin' down, an' he doesn't seem to be in much pain."

"Good. That's good" Anse states, exhalin' a puff of smoke around the pipe that is perched between his lips, and steppin' just a bit closer to the bed to get a better look at his boy before goin' on "You've done a fine job, Lanie. Better than Levicy an' I could've hoped for."

"I just did my best, sir—"

"Well your best is a far sight better than most others, I can promise ya that."

Unsure what to say in the face of such an unexpected compliment, I find that I am powerless to do anything other than remain speechless, some sort of instinct promptin' me to gently pull my hand from Will's as I struggle to find somethin' to break the uneasy silence that presses down on us like the weight of a heavy winter snow. For some reason, though, even in spite of that reality, I am still at least partially aware that Devil Anse's silence stems out of nothin' even remotely resemblin' hostility, and instead comes from a silent, but nonetheless deep seated concern, my expression shiftin' just a bit even in the face of my burnin' cheeks as I clear my throat once again, and attempt to speak.

"By my estimation, he—he should be able to move 'round on his own in a few days."

"An' will he be able to use the eye?"

"No" I reply, regret colorin' my tone as I once again duck my head, my tongue dartin' out to wet my lips durin' my momentary pause, so that I can find the courage to go on "No, I—he won't. I'm so sorry—"

"It ain't your fault. Was the tree that done it" Anse supplies, still more smoke puffin' from between his lips as he grips the pipe with the fingers of one hand, and shifts its position a bit before speakin' further "Don't you let anyone else convince you otherwise."

"I'll try."

"You'll do more 'an just try. You've got grit, Lanie, an' I don't think you're about to just let anyone tell you what's what."

Unable to resist the soft laugh that escapes in response to Devil Anse's rather unexpected assertion, I realize that my response appears to have pleased him, one corner of his mouth turnin' up in a half-smile as he takes the spare seat opposite me, and leans forward to place both elbows on his knees while lookin' at his son. For a moment or two, we remain like that, locked in a silence that isn't nearly as uncomfortable as I first believed it to be, while Anse takes in the reality of his boy's condition, and I do my best to give him the privacy with which to do so. But of course almost as soon as the moment arrives, it passes just as quickly, the sound of another pair of heavy footfalls causin' my head to jerk 'round toward the door so that I can see who it is that's tryin' to pay Will a visit now.

"How's my boy?" Jim Vance demands, his shoulders hunchin' forward just a bit as he stands beside Anse, and peers down at Will's sleepin' frame on the bed "He gonna wake up soon?"

"He—he's been awake" I begin, squarin' my shoulders a bit, and doin' my best to remind myself of what Devil Anse told me just moments ago as I force myself to elaborate further "He doesn't remember much of the accident itself, but I'm sure that'll come in time."

"What 'bout the eye? Will he be usin' it again?"

"No, I—I doubt he ever will."

Jim's reaction is about what I expect, his brow furrowin' as he draws himself up to his full height and gives me a look that I imagine was meant to intimidate, as though this entire affair was my fault, and mine alone. I can see what he's thinkin' even though he hasn't said a word yet, his eyes borin' into my own as he takes a breath or two and shoves both hands inside his trouser-pockets—that he wants to tell me exactly what he thinks about my treatment, or lack thereof, without censorin' a bit of it for my presumably tender ears. But before he can, I realize Devil Anse has taken the liberty of placin' his hand against his burly companion's arm, the fingers squeezin' a bit as he speaks before anyone else can make use of the opportunity to do the same.

"Lanie's done what she can for him, Jim. She'll stay as long as he wants her to."

"She didn't save his eye—"

"No one coulda done that" Anse presses, relinquishin' his hold on Jim's arm, an' glancin' at me across the bed as though he hopes a simple look alone will assure me of the truth behind his words "What my boy needs, now, is a friend."

"An' you think this girl's gon' give him that?"

"I know she will."

Whatever doubts Jim may have had about my presence here, they seem to fade away rather quickly at the abrupt assurance of Devil Anse, his eyes watchin' me for just one more moment before he seems to relax, and steps a bit back from the bed before addressin' me directly.

"You'll come find us if'n he needs anything."

"Of course I will."

"Right. I'll just be goin' to get somethin' to 'et then."

Turnin' on a heel, an' leavin' the room almost as quickly as he entered it, Jim clumps away, the sound of his boots on the wooden floorboards recedin' and causin' me to let out the breath I hadn't even been aware I was holdin'. Belatedly, I am made aware of the fact that my harsh exhalation has given Devil Anse some mild source of amusement, the low chuckle that escapes him echoin' slightly around the room, and causin' me to flush in response. While my cheeks set to burnin', I force myself to meet the older man's gaze, my shoulders squarin' once again as I place my hands upon the scratchy woolen blanket that rests over Will's frame, before gatherin' the wherewithal to speak.

"He—he doesn't like me very much, does he?"

"Jim don't much like anybody" Anse replies, managin' another chuckle, and seemin' pleased that the act has me smilin' even in spite of my blush, while he rises from the chair he has claimed for his own, and runs a hand through tousled grayish-brown hair "But you do right by Will, here, an' he'll be singin' your praises 'til the day you die."

"I'm certainly gonna try" I report, automatically reachin' for Will's hand even in the face of his father's continued observation of my actions, and takin' some form of solace in the way that, even in sleep, his fingers curl tightly around my own as a result "Though he—he doesn't have to sing my praises."

"For your part, I'll side with ya. Jim ain't a good singer, an' that's puttin' it kindly" Anse remarks, once again appearin' pleased to see my resultant smile, before he begins to make his way towards the door that leads to the common family area on its opposite side "You let us know if you need anythin', alright? I'll have Levicy bring ya some food in a little while."

"Thank you, Mister Hatfield."

Anse just gives me a nod before exitin' the room, the void left by his surprisin' presence causin' me to shiver for a moment as though caught by a sudden chill. I can't explain it—the feelin' I have when contemplatin' how warmly he has treated me in the face of his son's injury, an' the fact that I was still practically a stranger to him and his family. But feelin's or not, I am not entirely able to stop the faint smile that rises to my lips at the thought of how I seem to have, at least tentatively, earned his approval, and Levicy's as well, my hand givin' Will's a little squeeze as I settle back in my chair, an' begin to softly hum a tune to myself while I wait for him to wake again.

Whether I care to admit it or not, havin' the approval of the Hatfields means more to me than I can ever say.

…

"Lanie?" Johnse Hatfield's voice reaches my ears, causin' me to jump an' once again relinquish my hold on his brother's hand just before he enters the room and fixes me with a look that sends a shiver racin' through my veins "You awake?"

"Yeah—yeah, I am."

"Good. Mama sent me wit' some food for ya."

"Thanks, Johnse" I manage, duckin' my head for a moment in hopes of gettin' my flushin' cheeks under control, only to find that such a task is damn near to impossible as he sets the tray down, an' reaches forward to put a hand against my wrist.

"You alright, darlin'?"

"I—yeah. Yeah, I am. Just tired's all."

"Maybe you can take a nap after you eat some" Johnse suggests, releasin' my wrist so that he can shift the tray which just happens to be laden with bread, butter, honey, and a small mug of coffee just a bit further onto the bed beside my chair, an' takin' the liberty of perching on the edge so he can look at me more closely "I can stay wit' my brother 'til you're rested."

"Thank ya, Johnse, but I'll manage."

"Yeah, you'll manage 'til ya drop over an' then Mama'll be blamin' me."

Laughin' at the honest-to-God fear that sparks in Johnse's eyes as he speaks, I find that I'm unable to entirely pity him, even with the knowledge that Levicy Hatfield very likely would be a force to be reckoned with, should what he fears come to pass. In particular, the tentative smile he gives me as he realizes I really am chucklin' at his impendin' misery seems to warm my heart, one hand reachin' for a biscuit, and consequently brushin' against his own as he moves to do the same.

"Sorry. Mama said this food was for you."

"Well I surely can't eat all of it" I counter, returnin' Johnse's smile, an' nudgin' the tray towards him so that he can take a biscuit for himself, and butter it as well "But I may take all the coffee."

"Go ahead. Never much liked the stuff anyway."

We spent a few moments in companionable silence, then, simply chewin' and takin' the occasional pause for me to swallow some coffee, and Johnse to simply watch his brother, as though hopin' somethin' in his stare will wake Will up on its own. Instinctively, I find myself pausin' in the act of nibblin' on another biscuit, my eyes tracing over my patient's features in silence until I realize that Johnse's hand is once again restin' on my wrist, causin' me to jump as my eyes dart up to meet his in spite of my sudden resurgence of nerves.

"You sure he's gonna be okay?"

"I'm sure, Johnse. He—he was fortunate to only lose sight in the one eye."

For once, Johnse seems to sober up upon hearin' my remark, his eyes downcast as he returns to the task of watchin' his brother sleep. With his preoccupation, I find myself at liberty to watch him in my own right, my eyes rovin' over his features for a moment or two as though I'm not sure I'll get the chance ever again—

Naturally, that would be the time that he decides to look back at me, his own eyes widenin' just a bit as he catches my resultant flush and subsequent fascination with a stray thread in the blanket that's coverin' Will's sleepin' frame.

"What's wrong, Lanie?"

"Nothin'. Nothin' at all" I manage, chewin' at my lower lip for a moment, before forcin' myself to look Johnse in the eye, and findin' myself surprised at how quickly he offers me a blindin'ly bright smile in response "I just want Will to wake up and start gettin' better, faster, is all."

"You an' me both, darlin'."

Once again, Johnse and I settle back in our former, comfortable silence, each of us quietly munchin' on biscuits an' occasionally leanin' forward to snatch a bit of butter for them as well. Just for a moment, I catch myself thinkin' about how it almost looks like the two of us are a real life couple, sittin' at the bedside of someone we love—but fortunately, before I can find myself too distracted by that foolish notion, Will stirs and lets out a little groan, the hand I had been holdin' prior to the arrival of his older brother flexin' a bit, as though sensin' the vacancy that the lack of my own hand provides.

"Hey there, Will. You're 'wake" Johnse states, leanin' forward so that the remainder of the biscuit he had been munchin' on falls, unheeded, to the floor, and takin' Will's hand in his own so that he can give it a squeeze "How ya feelin'?"

"Drowsy" Will replies, glancin' down at where Johnse has his hand gripped so tight you'd think it was liable to fly away, and furrowin' his brow for a moment before turnin' to look at me "An' hungry."

"Let me go find your Mama, an' see if she thinks you can have some biscuits" I state, preparin' to get up from my chair, only to find myself thwarted in the act as Will latches onto my hand and pulls me back down with far more strength than I would've thought him capable of.

"Send Johnse. I want ya to stay."

Before I can react, Johnse is hoppin' up from the edge of the bed and headin' towards the door, my eyes followin' him for only a moment before they are turnin' back to Will with a slightly raised brow. Truthfully, I can't fathom why on earth he'd want me to stay, when his brother was clearly ready and willin' to take on the task himself. But in spite of my confusion, I cannot entirely find myself capable of complainin' my lips curvin' up in a tentative smile as I lean forward an' place one elbow upon the edge of the bed.

"If you're not careful, you're gonna make Johnse think you don't want to see him" I tease, pullin' back just a bit as I realize my decision to shift just a bit has nearly caused the tray of biscuits to topple onto the floor. Much to my amusement Will simply lets out a slight scoff in response to my remark, his uninjured eye meeting my own gaze as though darin' me to press my case "Okay, tough guy, what did you think that was all about?"

"You're the one with medical trainin', ain't ya?"

"I am."

"An' Johnse ain't" Will presses, wincin' a bit as he tries to haul himself into a seated position, and causin' me to lean forward to help him before he can find some way of hurtin' himself in the process "I can do it on my own, ya know."

"I know. I just want to help ya" I state, pressin' one hand against his shoulder to help him in the act of leanin' forward so that I can adjust the pillow for it to rest between his back an' the wooden headboard of the bed "I gotta make myself useful somehow."

"You already have, Lanie, an' you know it."

Somethin' in the way he says that remark with as much certainty as he can muster has me speechless, my posture goin' slack as I rock back in my chair and fix him with an expression that must speak volumes as to how stunned I am that he would even say such a thing to begin with. I'm not used to this side of him—the side that is so earnest that the weight of his gaze as it rests on me is unnervin' to say the least. In this particular moment, Will seems so very different, at least to me, from the self-assured boy that forced his way into walkin' with me to the general store what feels like ages ago.

But of course almost as soon as my mind strays back to that particular memory, the door to the bedroom creaks open once again, admittin' both Johnse and Levicy in on the solitude, and causin' me to avert my eyes to the threads of the blanket once again while the latter takes the liberty of speakin' in a clear, and authoritative tone.

"Johnse tells me you're feelin' well enough to eat, so I brought you some broth to start. That alright given his condition, Lanie?"

"That's perfectly fine, Missus Hatfield—"

Like it or not, my temporary care over our mutual patient had now been superseded by a mother's attentions, and although a part of me is slightly saddened by that very fact, I cannot help but use the time to relax just a bit, my back leanin' against the chair I occupy while I settle in to watch Levicy in her element…

Trained by my doctor Uncle or not, I still have a thing or two to learn, an' maybe she can be the one to teach me.

…


	7. Choices and Doubt

(Calvin POV)

"Calvin, you've hardly touched a bite of your supper," Mama chides, leanin' between me an' Roseanna, and ploppin' a biscuit on my plate even though it's still over half-full, "What's troublin' you, darlin'?"

"Nothin', Mama. Just tired is all."

"You sure?"

"Course I am," I reply, hopin' with all I have that Mama will simply let me be, even though I know the only reason she's askin' in the first place is out of concern, "But I was thinkin' of turnin' in early tonight, so maybe tomorrow I feel more like myself."

"Just so long as you're not late helpin' your Poppy with the mornin' chores."

"I won't be, Mama. Promise."

"Reckon you'll be able to stop pinin' after that Rutherford girl to be any use to us in the fields, then?" Tolbert inquires, levelin' a look at me from across the table that has me almost convinced to kick him in the shin even though I know Poppy will notice almost immediately after the fact, "Ain't no good workin' wit' ya if you're distracted."

"It ain't like that, Tolbert."

"Like hell it ain't. She's holed up with them Hatfields, ain't she?"

"I'll thank ya not to be swearin' at my dinner table, Tolbert McCoy," Poppy cut in, his tone stern as he cut his eyes over to where Tolbert was sittin', apparently heedless of the impact his words might have, 'specially seein' as Roseanna and Mama both are blushin' scarlet, while Alifair stares at her chicken as though it's the most interestin' thing in the world, "An' you'll not be talkin' about a friend of the family like that, either. Ain't right."

"Is she a friend of the family anymore? Takin' care of one of them, when she's s'posed to be courtin' my brother—"

"She's takin' care of him 'cause she's got a good heart, Tolbert. That's all."

"Course you'd say that, Roseanna, she's your best friend."

"An' a good person, besides," My blonde, fair-skinned sister points out, honestly surprisin' me with her insistence on standin' up to Tolbert when in the past he always seemed to scare her off with just a scowl, "You know that in your heart, Tolbert. I know ya do."

Tolbert simply scoffed at Roseanna's words, his attention turnin' back to the biscuit he had been gnawin' on before settin' in on tauntin' me about Lanie, though I can tell he still has more to say. In spite of the fact that he's my brother, an' I know I really ought to be more tolerant of him and his hotheaded nature, however, I find that I am not entirely capable of doin' that in this particular moment, my eyes narrowin' a bit as I lean my elbows against the weathered wood of the dining table and ask my brother the question that has him meetin' my gaze once again with startlin' ferocity.

"You tellin' me I should give up courtin' her, Tolbert?"

"Why does it matter so much to ya what I'm tellin' ya? Not like you're gonna listen."

"How do ya know I ain't gonna listen if ya never tell me what it is you're thinkin'?"

"Boys—" Poppy warns, the timbre of his voice likely indicatin' that he's reached his limit with our bickerin', though that doesn't seem to be enough to stop Tolbert from replyin', regardless.

"I'm sayin' you should watch yourself with Lanie Rutherford. Them Hatfields have a way of wormin' under somebody's skin, and 'fore ya know it, you're on their side."

"Lanie ain't like that," I protest, aware of Mama's look of warnin', and choosin' to ignore it in spite of the reality presented by Poppy tensin' in his chair at the head of the table, "She's not gonna believe a word those Hatfields say 'bout us."

"Suit yourself. But don't come cryin' to me when your girl's got herself a blond haired, blue eyed suitor in a couple o' months."

"Ya know, Tolbert, just cause ya can't get a woman to look twice your way don't mean ya have to go—"

"Alright, now that is enough!" Poppy exclaims, bringin' one hand down on the wood of the tabletop so that it creates a reverberatin' thud that effectively silences the argument in seconds flat, "I'll not have ya arguin' like this. Makes ya no better than those demon Hatfields."

"But Poppy—"

"I mean it, Calvin. No more o' this goin' back an' forth 'tween you an' your brother, or you'll be answerin' to me."

With that simple utterance, Poppy scoots his chair back from the table, the legs makin' a resoundin' scrape against the floorboards that causes both me and Tolbert to wince. Though I have managed to avert my eyes, I can hear his footsteps clunkin' away towards the stairs, their heaviness givin' me no doubt in my mind that he is deeply upset. A part of me can't really blame him, seein' as up 'til this particular moment, our meal had been relatively peaceful. But still, a greater part of me is still smartin' at Tolbert's words regardin' Lanie, my brow creasin' a bit as a frown mars my features in light of the sudden turn our evenin' just took.

Mama seems to sense my distress almost immediately, her silent instruction to Roseanna an' Alifair to start clearin' the table only barely registerin' in my mind as I pick absently at the chicken that is now almost completely cooled on my plate. In next to no time, though, the seat that Roseanna has just left is occupied once again, the weight of Mama's hand comin' to rest against my forearm causin' me to jump just a bit, before I look at her straight on, and realize she's watchin' me with no small supply of concern.

"What is it, Mama?"

"I'm worried about ya, son," She admits, her fingers squeezin' my arm likely in a gesture that was meant to provide comfort, while a worried frown mars her otherwise neutral features, "It ain't like you to snap at your brother like that."

"I'm sorry, Mama."

"I'm not askin' for ya to apologize to me. I just want to know what's troublin' ya's all."

"Ain't it obvious?" I inquire, my hand seemin' to instinctively shove the plate of hardly-eaten food away from my place at the table, while I turn simultaneously to face my Mama more directly. "I'm worried 'bout Lanie."

"Do ya have any reason to think the Hatfields'll hurt her?"

"I—no. No, I don't think so."

"Are ya afraid she won't come back to us, then?" Mama persists, her brow furrowin' as she regards me with far more interest than I am particularly comfortable with, "Cause she will, son, I can promise ya that."

"She—she will?"

"Have I ever led ya wrong before?"

"No Mama. No, ya haven't."

"And I don't intend to start doin' so now. Your Lanie is perfectly safe, Calvin, an' I can promise ya she'll come back to ya. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, Mama. It's clear," I reply, forcin' a smile to my lips for her benefit, before scootin' my own chair back, and movin' to stand. "I best be off to see if Poppy needs anythin' 'fore bed."

"You're a good boy, Calvin," She calls after me, a strange, faraway look in her eyes the likes of which I ain't never seen before that causes me to hurry from the room perhaps a bit faster than I might've otherwise, "If Lanie's as smart as I think she is, she'll realize that, 'fore the end."

…

(Eleanor POV)

"You gonna eat that?" Will inquires, pointin' with one finger toward the remainin' bit of ham on the plate that's restin' on the bed between us, an' givin' me a look that has me suppressin' a smile before I reply.

"Nope. Go ahead."

"Ya sure? I don't want Mama gettin' after me for bein' rude."

"I won't tell her if you don't," I remark, shakin' my head as I watch Will tear into the ham with the ferocity of a man who hasn't eaten solid food for way too long for his likin', "I'm glad you're feelin' better."

"So am I. No offense, but I was getting' a bit tired o' soup an' milk."

Unable to resist a laugh, I reach forward to nudge the plate just a bit closer towards Will, my eyes rakin' over his features as unobtrusively as they can in the process. The colorin' has mostly returned to his face, even in spite of the white bandage that is wound 'round his head to cover the injured eye—and although I am very well aware of the fact that realistically, he still has a long way to go before he's fully recovered, I can't help but feel at least the smallest bits of relief that he has already made it this far, my eyes droppin' to the plate once again as I realize Will just caught me in the act of starin'.

"Somethin' the matter, Lanie?"

"N—no. Nothin's wrong—"

"Then why're ya blushin' so hard?"

"I'm not blushin'!" I protest, one hand flyin' to my cheek, so that I am nothin' short of chagrined when I discover that Will is, in fact, correct, 'bout the burnin' of my face, "You sure it's wise to be teasin' the one who's been takin' care of ya?"

"You're still here, ain't ya?" Will quips, a smile tuggin' at the corner of his mouth, and givin' him a far more rogueish look than I am entirely prepared to deal with, "Seems to me ya don't mind a little teasin' now and then."

"That's what you think."

"S'what I know."

"Well now I have a reason to be tellin' your Mama you're bein' rude," I tease, failin' to entirely suppress the smirk that tugs at the corners of my mouth in response to the brief look of abject horror that crosses my companion's features, "Ha. Gotcha."

"You won't tell Mama."

"I won't?"

"No," Will confirms, leanin' back against the pillows that are propped up behind him 'gainst the head of the bed, and foldin' his arms against his chest with a surprisin' amount of flair before elaboratin' further, "It's like I said. Ya like a little teasin' now an' then."

"Never said I liked it, Will Hatfield," I retort, standin' from my perch on the edge of the bed, and smoothin' my skirt before leanin' forward to reach for the now empty plate that rests in Will's lap, "But whether I do or don't, I'd better be takin' this back downstairs 'fore your Mama's done with the dishes."

"Ain't ya afraid she'll rook ya into helpin' her?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not. An' even if she does, seems like it's the least I can do, seein' as your family's been givin' me room an' board for near 'bout a week now."

"They'll give ya room an' board for longer, ya know," Will mentions, somethin' in his expression seemin' to indicate that he might just be hopin' that's the case while he watches me prepare to leave the room, "They like ya. It'd take a blind man not to see it."

"Well I can hope they keep on feelin' that way, then," I state, turnin' to look over my shoulder at my patient, and sendin' him a faint smile before walkin' through the door and headin' towards the stairs…

Try though I might to deny it, there seems to be a part of me that's hopin' to get the go ahead to stay with the Hatfields for a bit longer, just as much as Will seems to want that very same thing.

…...

As it turns out, Will was right—I did end up helpin' his Mama do the last of the dishes, though I didn't mind it nearly as much as he made it seem like I would, the easy chatter that passed 'tween myself, and Levicy Hatfield bringin' a sort of ease to my mood that was about as unexpected as my Uncle's arrival not long after. In truth, it was a bit of a relief to see him, instinct causin' me to practically vault myself into his arms not five seconds after he had passed through the Hatfields' door. His answerin' laugh even seems to prompt a brief chuckle of amusement from Devil Anse Hatfield himself as he places both hands on my shoulders and holds me back at arm's length to look me up and down—

I s'pose he figures I might've changed in the time since I last saw him.

"Well, Lanie—ya seem to be holdin' up alright."

"I am, Uncle Elliott," I confirm, gently extractin' myself from his hold upon my shoulders, and glancin' at Levicy, who is standin' right next to him, "I—Will's doin' much better, too."

"That's precisely who I was comin' to check on. Maybe ya can get yourself a bit of a rest while I go upstairs with the boy's Mama?"

"I don't need rest, Uncle Elliott—"

"Would ya change your mind if I told ya there was someone outside in my wagon that I brought special to see ya?"

"Some—somebody special?"

"Why don't ya go out there an' see for yourself?" My Uncle suggests, a slight twinkle in his eye, even in spite of the slight frown that mars Levicy's otherwise open features. Naturally, I spend one brief moment contemplatin' exactly what that frown might mean—but before I can take too long thinkin' about somethin' that I really don't understand, impatience prompts me to take a few steps out of the front door, a high pitched squeal leavin' me as I realize exactly who is sittin' in the seat of my Uncle's wagon.

"Roseanna?"

"Hey there, Lanie," My friend calls out, one hand restin' on a wheel of the wagon while the other gathers her skirts so she can climb down to meet me without risk of fallin', "Gosh, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Roseanna," I confess, meetin' my friend halfway, an' pullin' her into as tight an embrace as I can muster. "You have no idea how much."

"They treatin' ya alright, here?" My friend inquires, almost immediately sensin' the way I tense at the suggestion that my hosts have been anythin' less than kind, and rubbin' my shoulder a bit as a means of soothin' my anxiety over her words. "I don't mean anythin' by it, Lanie, I just wanna see my friend in good spirits, is all."

"Of course they are. Roseanna, I promise you, I'm fine."

"Calvin misses ya."

"He—what?" I stammer, the surprise I am feelin' over Roseanna's hastily blurted words apparent in my tone, even though I really do try my best to mask it to avoid appearin' rude. "He misses me?"

"That's what he said the other day," Roseanna confirms, her cheeks reddenin' just a bit as she risks a glance at me, and notices that my own skin has pinked up a bit from what it was before, "An' anybody with eyes can tell he likes ya."

"Roseanna—"

"He does," She insists, movin' to stand directly beside me so that she can nudge my shoulder with her own, before we start walkin' towards the edge of the Hatfield's property with our arms linked together. "An' Mama an' Poppy approve as well."

Unsure exactly what to say in response to such a thing, I settle for squeezin' Roseanna's arm lightly with my free hand, my happiness at seein' her at least for the moment outweighin' my apprehension at the thought of what she seems to believe is a certainty. Truthfully, I really don't find the prospect of courtin' Calvin McCoy to be all that distasteful; in fact, it seems to be precisely the opposite. But even with that thought in mind, I can't entirely shake the way my stomach is turnin' over as I recall exactly how Levicy Hatfield's features had stiffened upon realizin' my Uncle had brought a McCoy to her house.

If I do start courtin' Calvin, will she ever trust me with her son again?

In response to the very thought of not bein' able to help Will finish the period of his recovery, my entire body seems to have gone cold, the realization that goosepimples have broken out on the skin of my arms causin' me to stop walkin' almost immediately. Instinctively, I give a small shiver, my teeth comin' out to worry at my lower lip while I remove my arm from its place linked through Roseanna's so that I can rub the fabric of my sleeves against my skin in hopes of generatin' warmth. As soon as I do so, of course, I realize that Roseanna is comin' to an almost immediate halt as well, her brows furrowin' in what I can only interpret as concern as she reaches out once again to place her hand in mine.

"Lanie, you've gone pale as a sheet!"

"I'm fine—"

"Don't you think for one second I'll be believin' that," My friend scoffs, her fingers threadin' through my own so that she can give my hand a small squeeze before goin' on, "What's the matter?"

"I just—I'm not too sure if I'll be able to keep tendin' to Will if the Hatfield's know I'm courtin' one of your brothers," I manage, surprisin' myself with my honesty, even though I know that Roseanna will not fault me for tellin' her what I am actually thinkin'. Now, more so than ever, I am extraordinarily grateful for such a thing, particularly as I know I would be absolutely beside myself if anythin' should ever stand in the way of our friendship. And although I know, judgin' by the way in which her brow is still furrowed, that my words have troubled her, I have absolute trust in the fact that Roseanna will understand my concern, even if she can't exactly support the thing I'm doin' that led it to become an issue in the first place.

"Then we don't tell them."

"Roseanna—"

"Well how hard would it be?" She persists, folding her arms across her chest, and fixin' me with a look of such determination that I am honestly stunned into silence, "People already know we're friends, so they wouldn't question your Uncle bringin' ya 'cross the Tug every now an' then, would they?"

"I don't think so, no," I agree, my own brow furrowin' as I mull over what my friend has just told me, and come to the conclusion that she seems to be headin' along the right track—somethin' that she, herself, has also realized, if the slight smile she wears is any indication.

"An' the same can be said for if Calvin and I decide to come and visit ya ourselves."

Utterly at a loss for anythin' to say to contradict Roseanna's supposition, I settle instead for a simple nod of acknowledgement, while some small part of the weight that felt like it had been plaguein' my chest surprisingly enough fades away. She's right, of course—I know she is, even though mere moments before, I was fit to be tied when it came to thinkin' up a way to keep my friendship with Will Hatfield intact, without offendin' Roseanna or her family in the process. And although some small part of me—perhaps the wiser part—is still at least slightly apprehensive over exactly what it is I'm contemplatin', I cannot entirely bring myself to regret the slight easin' of nerves that I experience as I allow Roseanna to take my arm once again, and we continue walkin' 'round the perimeter of the Hatfields' land.

No matter how foolish my desire might be, I know now more than ever that I will do anythin' I can to avoid losin' either of my friends to a feud that should never have started in the first place…

…


	8. Flames Kindled

(Eleanor POV).

…

"Did ya have fun with your friend, Lanie?" My uncle asks, loopin' an arm around my shoulders, and drawin' me against his side in a one-armed embrace while we watch Roseanna seein' to loadin' some parcels of food Levicy gave as payment for his allowin' me to stay and tend to her son while he healed. I can tell, though she will never admit it, that my friend is more than a little relieved to be makin' her way home. And even though a part of me bristles with frustration over the idea that any one of the Hatfield family could've made her feel that way, I cannot entirely deny my own relief that aside from a palpable tension, nothin' worse transpired as a direct result of her visit.

"Lanie? Ya alright, girl?"

"I—yes, Uncle Elliott, I'm fine."

"Then why on earth are ya so quiet?"

"Just distracted, is all," I admit, seein' no use in lyin' to my uncle, even though I really don't want to risk worryin' him unnecessarily, "I—I just can't stand all this tension 'tween the families."

"The Hatfields have accepted you, ya know."

"An' they can't do the same for Roseanna?"

"It goes deeper than that, Lanie. I think ya know that already," My uncle advises, pattin' my shoulder in what is clearly meant to be a reassurin' way, and pullin' away not long after to head towards the wagon he took to get here, "I'll come back for ya in a few days. Sound alright?"

"It does."

"Then take care of yourself, darlin'. Shall I tell anyone else on the other side of the Tug that you say hello?"

The almost mischievous twinklin' in his eyes as he says those words have me flushin' almost on instinct, especially since I know full well exactly who it is he's referrin' to. For a moment, I don't dare respond, my gaze dartin' behind me to where the front of the Hatfield's home remains, mercifully devoid of any observers—and then, in spite of my nerves and embarrassment, I force myself to look back towards my uncle, my heart hammerin' away in my chest while I reply.

"I think I'll be tellin' him that in person, Uncle Elliott."

"Sounds fair 'nough to me. How 'bout you, Roseanna?"

"I think so, Doc."

Unable to resist the urge to laugh at Roseanna's innocent smile, I allow myself to simply give in to the desire, no matter how foolish it may be, my shoulders shakin' with obvious amusement while I watch my uncle assist my friend into the wagon's seat, and slap the reins to begin the journey home. Without even realizin' it at first, the two of them seem to have settled my doubts with their teasin', at least for the moment. And perhaps that alone is enough of a reason for me to turn back towards the Hatfield's home and begin to walk back up the steps onto the front porch, a smile gracin' my lips as I realize perhaps in spite of my own misgivings, I may just be able to keep my friends on both sides of this ridiculous feud after all.

…

'Round two hours later, I find myself rather surprisingly sittin' on the front porch with nothin' but Johnse Hatfield for company, a plate of peas situated between us so we can shell 'em and in so doin' help Levicy prepare for the evenin' meal. A light breeze keeps rustlin' against my hair, causin' stray tendrils to break free from the braid hangin' down my back. And although I am well aware that the breeze is likely cool enough to warrant a shawl, I persist in nothing but my dress, the sleeves rolled up to just below my elbows even in spite of the gooseflesh that is breakin' out against my skin.

"You have some fun talkin' to you friend earlier?" Johnse inquires, one brow archin' as he watches me and waits for my reply. In contrast to the hesitation on the part of the rest of his family durin' Roseanna's visit, Johnse simply seems curious. And so in spite of my trepidation, I find that it is rather easier than I expected to respond to the question honestly, my posture relaxin' just a bit as I toss a freshly shelled pea into the bucket at our feet before I reply.

"I did, Johnse, thank you."

"If ya talk to my Pa, she might be able to come 'round more often."

"I'm not sure that'll be necessary, seein' as I'm goin' home in a few days."

"Why? We like havin' ya here."

"My uncle said he was comin' back to retrieve me," I explain, abandonin' the pea pod I had just picked up, and instead turnin' to look at my companion more directly before goin' on, "My guess is, he needs me to start helpin' him with some of his other patients."

"But you'll be comin' back, won't ya?"

"I—I don't know, Johnse."

In the wake of his frown, I find that I am scootin' just a bit closer to him, one hand dippin' down to nudge the plate of unshelled peas out of the way so that I can bump my shoulder against his side in what I hope will come across as a gesture of camaraderie. I can't quite explain it—what has me actin' so boldly when I have always been almost eerily shy where Will's older brother is concerned. But regardless of my former timid behavior I find that I can't help but hope that my act, feeble as it may be, is enough to reassure him, my cheeks flushin' just a bit as Johnse retaliates by bumpin' his shoulder against mine so quickly that I am nearly knocked off the porch.

"Hey!"

"You're lucky you're a girl, Lanie, otherwise you'd be in the dirt," Johnse states, chucklin' as he reaches for my arm and tugs me back so that I rest just a hairsbreadth from his side, "Gonna be weird without ya here, I know that."

"How so?"

"Because you're comin' to be like a part of the family, that's how!"

"Johnse, I hardly think I'm a part of the family," I protest, pullin' away just a bit and fixin' my eyes on my skirts, and the imaginary piece of thread that I decide to start pickin' at for want of anythin' else to do. His assertion catches me unawares—that much, I know for certain, even though the rest of me is honestly too stunned to do much in the way of serious thinkin' on the matter. And although I am just a bit pleased to hear such a thing from Johnse Hatfield, of all people, I still cannot bring myself to believe it, no matter what my companion might say to the contrary.

"Ya can't think like that, Lanie," He states, reachin' behind us for the plate of peas, and grabbin' one or two so he can get to shellin' them once again, likely in hopes of not delayin' dinner due to our own inaction, "Why're ya always doubtin' yourself like that?"

"I—what makes you think I doubt myself?"

"Maybe the way you seem to undervalue your worth to me an' my family for what ya did for my brother, for a start?"

"I just did what anyone else would with what learnin' I had from my uncle," I insist, determined to divert Johnse from a the question he has asked me, as though expectin' that I even know the answer, "I'm glad I could help him, even a little bit."

"Well you're wrong about anyone else doin' the same thing," Johnse assures me, tossin' a pea my way, and lettin' out a small laugh when it thwacks me right in the nose, "I'm sure you're the only one who'd let a pain in the ass like my brother worm his way into your heart enough for ya to wait on him hand an' foot for days on end."

"Your brother isn't a pain in the—well—you know."

"Yeah he is, you're just too polite to say it."

"Johnse Hatfield, he's your brother!"

"An' I love him to death, but he's still a pain in the ass."

Unable to do anything but laugh in the face of Johnse's persistence, I settle instead for scootin' just a bit to the side so that we can once again place the plate of peas between us, the act appearin' to come just in time as the tell-tale creak of the front door alerts us to Levicy's presence. Tiltin' my head back, I am able to tell that she is smilin' even in spite of whatever resigned amusement she may be feelin' at our lack of sufficient progress. And perhaps as a result of that smile, I feel a bit more at ease in terms of my own place, no matter how temporary, with her family, my hand reachin' for more peas while she speaks in a tone that is surprisingly warm, in spite of its chidin' nature.

"When you two are done with those peas, I'll be needin' Lanie's help with the roast, and your Pa wants ya to help him out back at the barn."

"Sure, thing Mama," Johnse replies, grabbin' another handful of peas for himself, and beginnin' to shell them with much more industry than he ever showed when it was just the two of us, while his mama gives us one final half-smile, before returnin' inside and shuttin' the door with a gentle snap behind her. For a moment, we remain silent, shellin' peas as quickly as we can so that Levicy won't have an excuse to come back and be upset with us in earnest. But almost as soon as that silence ensues, Johnse is breakin' it once again, one hand dartin' out to nudge me in the side before he starts in on me once again.

"So what did make ya decide to tolerate my brother?"

"Be quiet, Johnse."

"Ya love me and ya know it, Lanie."

"So you say," I retort, reachin' out to return the nudge he gave me just moments prior, and sharin' in his laughter as he easily dodges out of the way. For a reason I cannot explain, I find that I am stuck thinkin' on his question far more than I ever really wanted to, my cheeks once again takin' up the act of burnin' as I return my attention to the task at hand. Inexplicably, my thoughts drift away from my seemin' bond with Will Hatfield, and turn instead to my impendin' relationship with Calvin McCoy—and although I am nowhere near bein' able to explain the exact nature of my predicament, I know for a fact that I have somehow managed to get myself in the middle of somethin' that I can hardly comprehend.

What remains to be seen is if I can manage to figure things out before I am in over my head…

…

(Calvin POV)

"So she seemed alright, then?"

"Course she did, Calvin, what did you expect?" Roseanna asks, shakin' her head so that her blond curls bob back an' forth against her shoulders, "She's with other human bein's, not wolves."

"From what Pa says, seems like it's the same thing," I protest, plunkin' down in the seat next to my sister at our dinin' table, an' reachin' for an ear of corn to help her start the shuckin' process for dinner, "They're Hatfields, Roseanna."

"An' a person's last name makes a difference in who they are?"

"Sure seems like it, with them."

"You ever think you're just reactin' based on what Papi thinks?" My sister persists, gently placin' her shucked ear of corn on the table, and foldin' her arms 'cross her chest while regardin' me with a surprisin'ly stern expression, "Maybe you're lettin' other people dictate your feelin's."

"An' maybe you're bein' too trustin'," I retort, almost immediately realizin' that I've spoken too harshly as Roseanna flinches in response to my uncharacteristically gruff tone, "I don't mean it as a bad thing, Roseanna. I just—I don't see how you can think that way of the people that killed our uncle."

"The whole family didn't kill Uncle Harmon, Calvin. You know that."

Stunned by the vehemence in Roseanna's words, I find that I am capable of doin' nothing other than watchin' while she reaches for another ear of corn, my mind goin' about a mile a minute, and makin' it so I can barely focus on any one thing at a time. If I'm bein' honest, the very idea of Lanie spendin' all that time 'cross the Tug with the Hatfields is killin' me, 'specially since I have absolutely no way of knowin' if she really is alright. Of course, I can see that Roseanna is clearly sure in her opinion that I am in the wrong. But even with that knowledge I can't quite prevent myself from assumin' the worst, my lips tuggin' down a bit at the corners while I reach forward to grab an ear of corn for myself.

"You two almost done in here? I'm starvin'."

"Yeah, Tolbert, we're almost finished," Roseanna replies, shiftin' just enough in her seat beside me so that she can give our older brother a genuine smile, "You and Papi done in the fields yet?"

"Getting' there. Looks like we're closer to finishin' that than you two are with helpin' Mama make dinner."

"You could always stop gripin' at us and help if you're so hungry," I quip, rollin' my eyes at Tolbert's answerin' scowl, an' watchin' as he stumps his way 'round the table to take a seat across from me an' Roseanna with a little huff, "Might make the work go faster, anyways."

"Only if you'll shut up about me not helpin'," Tolbert retorts, usin' the toe of his boot to kick my shin beneath the table, before yankin' an ear of corn his way and tearin' at the protective outer layer as though it personally offends him, "Don't make sense, how irritable you've been lately."

"He's just worried, Tolbert, that's all."

"Worried 'bout what?"

"Nothin' that's any of your business," I state, aware of how Roseanna is givin' me a concerned look, and choosin' to ignore it in favor of standin' from my seat beside her, an' beginnin' to head towards the doorway leadin' into the kitchen proper, "I'll go an' see if Mama needs any help."

"Runnin' away from your problems ain't gonna fix 'em ya know," Tolbert groused, his words carryin' after me as I head into the kitchen, an' causin' me to roll my shoulders a bit in a half-hearted attempt to ease some of the tension that had been naggin' at them ever since the start of my conversation with Roseanna. It does no good, though, no matter how I may have wished that it would, and for that reason, amongst others, my mood is considerably sour as I walk towards my mama, an' take the pan she is so clearly strugglin' with from her before she can risk droppin' it and hurtin' herself with the scaldin' hot water kept inside.

No matter how hard I try to avoid it, though, my thoughts keep strayin' back to Lanie an' her dealin's with the Hatfields, and exactly what might stand to happen if they somehow turn her against me before I even get the chance to show her how I feel.

…

Dinner and its aftermath does little to turn my mood around, my silence alertin' Bud and Pharmer just enough to cause them to plop down beside me in the chairs situated at odd intervals 'round the fireplace. The way that they're eyein' me has me just a bit nervous, particularly since I know they won't hesitate to hassle me if they suspect the real reason behind my silence. Though we've all just eaten, I am well aware that Pharmer is still gnawin' at one of Mama's biscuits, the sound oddly aggravatin' in the wake of my conflicted feelings.

Perhaps that is what has me so tightly wound that even the sound of Bud's voice has me wantin' to leave the room.

"You alright, Calvin? Ya seem a little down."

"I'm fine, Bud—"

"Ya don't look fine. Even Mama noticed ya barely touchin' your supper."

"Wasn't that hungry," I reply, avoidin' a close look at either of my brothers as I choose instead to glance towards the fire in hopes that its dancin' light will mask any tell-tale unease in my features, "You're makin' somethin' outta nothin', both of ya."

"No we ain't," Pharmer denies, leanin' back in his own chair, and regardin' me with a look that surprises me with its uncharacteristically shrewd nature, "You're always one of the first to finish your plate, an' ya never leave the table 'fore any of the rest of us."

"Besides, you're never as silent as ya were tonight," Bud adds, leanin' forward 'til his elbows are restin' on his knees, and fixin' me with a look that seems to burn a hole straight through me, "So ya gonna tell us what's wrong, or are we gonna have to drag it outta ya?"

"Ya can't drag nothin' out of me if there's nothin' to tell."

"Bullshit."

"You're one to talk, Pharmer, after how you sulked for a week when Tolbert stopped givin' you his shine for free."

"That wasn't bullshit, Calvin. That was a serious situation."

Unable to resist it, even in spite of how I am really not in the mood, a small laugh breaks free in response to Pharmer's remark, the tension that has been tormentin' me since talkin' to Roseanna earlier abatin' just a bit as a result. For some reason, I am almost tempted to let my brothers continue in their obvious desire to distract me, even knowin' that when I am alone again it will all come rushin' back.

I think that might be at least part of the reason why I allow myself to simply relax in the chair I occupy, my shoulders slumpin' just a bit as I tilt my head back until it thumps against the wood of the rocker with a sound that is almost startlin' in its hollowness.

"You two are morons, ya know that?" I murmur, still keepin' my head rested against the boards at my back, an' suppressin' a grin as I register Bud's reply.

"Some say we take after you."

"Those people must not be lookin' at us right, then."

Open laughter fills the room not long after my reply, only to break off almost immediately as the sound of the front door slammin' causes us all to jump. Heavy footfalls slammin' against the wooden floorboards cause all of us to straighten in our seats, the shared look that passes between us containin' far more apprehension than any of us are comfortable with as Papi enters the room, his face as dark as a thundercloud while he speaks.

"I need you boys out in the fields, now. Someone's made off with one of our pigs."

…


	9. Premonition and Foreboding

(Eleanor POV)

A few days later, I find myself ridin' in my uncle's wagon back 'cross the Tug, one hand grippin' the sideboard as the wheels jostle against the rough ground beneath them, while the other rests on my lap, fisted in my skirt. Again and again, the news my uncle gave me almost as soon as we were pullin' out of the drive that led to the Hatfield's home bounces around in my mind, my stomach roilin' as though it was a hornet's nest that someone had just kicked over.

Someone had stolen one of the McCoy family pigs, and like as not, Randall McCoy would want the guilty party to pay.

A guilty party that my uncle said was suspected of bearin' the Hatfield last name…

Of course, given my recent stay with members of that family, I cannot bring myself to believe such an accusation, the idea of any one of the people I had come to care for committin' such an act physically causin' my stomach to roil. Whatever anyone said about Devil Anse Hatfield—even Jim Vance—I didn't have it in me to suspect that they'd out and out throw more fuel on the fire of the trouble between the families.

If that made me a gullible little fool, so be it.

Riskin' a glance at my uncle as we turn a bend in the road, and find ourselves on the last stretch towards home, I realize with some shock that he is dartin' a glance at me at the exact same time, the smile that toys with the corners of his mouth provin' to be at least a little bit reassurin' as he bumps his shoulder against my own and speaks for the first time since tellin' me about the missin' pig.

"You glad to be home, sweet girl?"

"Yeah, I am," I reply, managin' a smile for my uncle's sake, before turnin' my attention back to the road ahead of us, and consequently, our home as well, "I just—I don't know how I feel 'bout what you told me earlier, is all."

"No one's askin' ya to take a side, Lanie."

"I know that, Uncle Elliott."

"You worryin' about your new friend you just left, then?" He inquires, slappin' the reins against the horses' flanks in order to prompt them to move just a bit faster, and belyin' his eagerness for familiar surroundings and perhaps a glass of somethin' strong to go along with our dinner, "He'll be fine. He's got a good strong head on his shoulders, just like his Pa."

"I know he does, but I—"

"Ya think he'll end up fightin' alongside Anse if it comes to it, don't ya?"

"I do. An' if he gets hurt, I—I don't know what I'd do, if I'm bein' honest."

"Well as far as I'm concerned, darlin', you're just gonna have to trust that Will's pa'll do a good job of lookin' after him if fightin' does break out," My uncle assures me, transferrin' the reins to his left hand so that he can reach around me and pull me into a one armed embrace, "If I know anythin' 'bout Devil Anse Hatfield, it's that he takes care of his own."

"An' what about Calvin?" I muse, my heart doin' a funny little lurch within my chest at the mention of the name, even though I can hardly explain the reaction in any way that'll do it justice, "What happens to him? His brothers? Roseanna?"

"Randall will see to their needs, Lanie. You know him well 'nough to believe that."

"What if he can't? What if none of them can?"

A moment's pause passes between us after my shaky inquiry, durin' which time my uncle succeeds in pullin' the wagon up next to our home, his reassurin' words to the horses goin' entirely unheard by me as I find myself once again lost in my own thoughts. Not for the first time, I find myself hatin' this feud, along with the twistin' sensation in my gut that indicates the tension I have already experienced is only the first in a long line of bad feelin's that such a thing will inspire. And although I know that I really would be smarter to simply take my uncle at his word, I cannot help but succumb to the almost stranglin' nerves that plague me, regardless, my teeth comin' out to worry at my lower lip for a moment before I realize that my uncle has already hopped down from the wagon, and crossed 'round it to help me dismount as well.

"I don't think ya need to spend too much time worryin' over your friends yet, darlin'," He says, managin' another soft smile for my benefit, and reachin' out to brush a stray lock of hair away from my cheek after helpin' me down from the wagon, "For now, just let their pa's handle it, an' trust in the Lord to help 'em make good calls."

Looks like, at least for now, I'll be doin' what I can to follow along with what my uncle says…

…

(Calvin POV)

"Bet it was that damned Hatfield prick," Tolbert spits out, slashin' at the tall blades of grass on the edge of the path windin' from our field to the dirt an' pebble crusted lane beyond, "Don't know why Poppy won't jus' let us go over there an' take it back 'fore he can make a profit on our sow."

"We don't know it was Floyd Hatfield, Tolbert. Could've been anyone."

"You know anyone else that's a thievin', yellow bellied horse's ass, Calvin?"

"World seems full of that sort of person," I state, shovin' both hands inside my pants' pockets, and followin' along after my brother with both eyes on the ground at my feet, "Don't seem right to lump all the guilt at the feet of one man just 'cause of his last name."

"Well I think Mama must've dropped ya on your head as a baby, 'cause from where I'm sittin', anyone bearin' the Hatfield name is one and the same."

"You ever think that kinda hatred is what started all this to begin with?"

"That kinda hatred is well deserved. Anyone says otherwise may as well go 'cross the Tug an' live with the Hatfields on their own."

Knowin' my brother as I do, I chose to remain silent instead of retortin' back, and continuin' our little spat, my thoughts flickin' to Lanie for what felt like the hundredth time today as we carry on walkin' towards the main road. Roseanna had said she was set to be comin' back home sometime today, on account of her uncle needin' her help with his regular patients. And although I want nothin' more than to find some excuse to ride into town an' go see her, I know that Poppy will never allow it.

Not with a hog missin', an' the whole family needed to help get the pig returned home.

"I take it we're searchin' down by Floyd's place first," I begin, watchin' Tolbert carefully for his reaction, and noticin' that his jaw has started to clench, before he turns away from me and spits onto the ground at our feet.

"Damn right we're searchin' by his place first. Bet we won't have to look much farther, neither."

It would seem that no matter what I said to the contrary, nothin' was going to change my brother's mind about the guilty party behind our missin' pig.

Somethin' told me nothin' would change my Poppy's mind, either, an' that scared me more than I would ever admit out loud.

…

(Will POV)

"You missin' your friend, Will?"

"Shut it, Johnse," I retort, sendin' a glare towards my brother, even though I know he'll probably just ignore it and ramble on anyways, "She had to go back to her own eventually."

"Yeah, but ya liked havin' her around."

"Did I? Or was that you?"

"I liked havin' her around too, yeah," Johnse admits, shruggin' as though he really thinks I'll buy the attempted gesture of indifference before he turns back to me and gives me a smile that he usually reserves for our mama, or a girl he's tryin' to win over, "But I think ya liked it more."

"You're full of it, ya know that?"

"No more than you, for denyin' the truth."

"I'm not denyin' the truth," I argue, rollin' my eyes at Johnse's persistent grin, and turnin' back to the board I had been in the process of cuttin' to make a repair on the side of our barn facin' the house, "Seems to me you're the one livin' in the world of denial."

"Nah, I'm just callin' it as I see it. Ya like her."

"What the hell makes ya say that?"

"I watched the two of ya talkin', an' holin' away in your room like a couple of peas in a pod, that's what," My brother replies, laughin' as I roll my eyes yet again, an' choosin' to come 'round so that he's standin' right in front of me and I'm forced to look him in the eye, "Ya never talked with anyone else like that before."

"Maybe that's 'cause I never had a tree take out my eye before, Johnse."

"Yeah, well I think it's 'cause ya like her."

"Just because you're a horn-dog with a one track mind—"

"You kiss our mama with that mouth?"

"It's no worse than some of the things you say."

"I think we oughtta let her tell us if that's true or not," Johnse persists, foldin' both arms 'cross his chest, and sendin' me a wink that has me emittin' an exasperated snort of amusement in response.

"Course you'd say that."

"I say it 'cause I think it's a good idea."

"An' you're just itchin' for a chance to get someone else to take your side," I add, shakin' my head at Johnse's mega-watt grin, an' decidin' to at least temporarily abandon the board I had been cuttin' in favor of lookin' him right in the eye, "Try someone else. I don't think our mama'll be as keen to take your side as you think."

"Now who's denyin' the truth?"

"Just you, Johnse," I reply, reachin' out to shove my hand against my brother's shoulder, and laughin' along with him as he retaliates in kind.

"Just you."

…

(Eleanor POV)

"Don't look now, darlin', but I think a friend of yours is waitin' to see ya at the door."

"And exactly who might this friend be?" I inquire, smilin' at my uncle while simultaneously wipin' my hands on a clean towel after rinsin' them off in the basin of fresh water brought in only moments ago, "I wasn't expectin' anybody."

"I don't think I ought to tell ya that. Surprises are always more pleasurable, in my opinion."

Unable to resist the urge to laugh, in spite of my trepidation, I place the towel upon the kitchen counter, and head into the main hall, my shoes creatin' slight echoes as I move along the wooden paneling towards the front door. From the small peek through the nearby window, I can see a familiar blond on the doorstep, with an older woman I can only assume is her mother. And it is that very realization that has me grinnin' from ear to ear, my steps speedin' up just a bit so I can close the distance between myself and the door and pull it open with shakin' hands.

"Roseanna!"

"Poppy said he heard you were back!" My friend enthuses, steppin' forward and pullin' me into a tight embrace while her mama just smiles and watches in silent approval, "Mama and I thought we'd stop by and say hello, if it ain't too much trouble."

"Of course it's not! Come on in, both of ya!"

Steppin' back so that Roseanna and her mama can do exactly that, I find that I am only belatedly aware of my uncle's footsteps comin' out into the hall behind us, my attention turnin' for just a brief moment towards him so I can lift a brow, and return his prior teasin' as best I can.

"Were these two the surprise you had in mind, Uncle Elliott?"

"Perhaps—"

Rollin' my eyes in good natured amusement, I turn back to Roseanna and Sally McCoy, this time findin' myself pulled into the latter's arms, with a smile crossin' my lips at the sensation of her warm hand rubbin' a soothin' semicircle on my back. Pullin' back from her, I am soon surprised by the weight of her gaze as her eyes rove over my face, her brow knittin' together in obvious concern while she holds me at arm's length as though I'm in need of inspection. I suppose I'd be a fool if I pretended that her observation wasn't unnervin' to me, even though I know in my heart she only means well.

Regardless, though, I'm determined to enjoy this impromptu visit, without dwellin' on anythin' else.

"Why don't you go an' sit with Doc Rutherford in the parlor, Mama," Rosanna states, effectively stunnin' me out of my internal musin's, while she simultaneously loops an arm through mine and starts tuggin' me back toward the kitchen, "I'm sure Lanie an' I can have some coffee and biscuits ready for ya in a jiffy."

"Roseanna, ya know it ain't polite to make offers on behalf of other people in their own home—"

"Your daughter's just fine, Sally," My uncle interjects, smilin' at Roseanna's mama, and leadin' her towards the parlor so that Roseanna and I can head to the kitchen as promised, "Besides, ya ain't had good food til ya tasted one of my Lanie's biscuits."

"Uncle Elliott, they're not that special."

"Sure they are, darlin'. An' while you're makin' them, maybe you could fry up some of that bacon too?"

"Okay," I agree, flushin' a bit as my uncle sends me a conspiratorial wink, and squeezin' Roseanna's arm in my own as we turn back and head to the kitchen in earnest. Of course, I recognize what my uncle was doin' as easily as if he had worn a sign that declared it outright. But even with that knowledge, I find that I do not entirely mind his attempt at meddlin', a smile grazin' my features as I glance at Roseanna, and manage a shrug before speakin' again.

"Doesn't look like we've got much of a choice but to go in there and make coffee, bacon, and biscuits, huh?"

"Nope," Roseanna replies, returnin' my smile with a bright one of her own, and gently extricatin' her arm from mine so she can head to the counter and reach for the cloth I had abandoned just prior to her entry into my home, "But I'd be lyin' if I said some time to talk with ya without anyone else listenin' in isn't what I wanted."

"I'd be a liar too, if I pretended I didn't want the same thing," I confess, standin' on tiptoe and reachin' into the cupboard above the stove so I can gather the bag of flour necessary for makin' biscuits, "You go first."

"First?"

"Yep. You are the guest, after all."

No matter how anxious I was to discuss the reason for my recent nervousness, I would be hanged if I cast aside the manners my own mama taught me in favor of selfish relief.

…

(Doc POV)

"Your niece is growin' into a fine woman, Doc," Sally begins, sendin' me a smile while her hands smooth out the fabric of her skirt which is only slightly wrinkled from the journey into town, "She'll make a man very happy one day."

"I trust Calvin's told ya I agreed to let him start courtin' my girl, then," I reply, returnin' Sally's smile with one of my own, and simultaneously reachin' across the table to straighten a stack of books Lanie had been fiddlin' with earlier, "He hasn't been buy to press his suit in a while—"

"Randall's got him with his brothers in the fields most days. An' then there's the matter of our missin' pig."

"Still haven't found it, then?"

"Not at the present," The McCoy matriarch confirms, a frown marrin' her features as she settles against the cushions of the chair she occupies, and casts a pensive glance towards the kitchen where the laughter of our girls can be heard with relative ease, "Randall brought Perry Cline in to advise on how to proceed when the pig is returned, though."

"Perry Cline. Isn't he the one who tried to assert rights to Anse Hatfield's sawmill few years back?"

"The very same."

"What's he got to do with a missin' pig?" I muse aloud, careful to keep one ear trained on the hushed conversation in the other room so I can redirect the topic of Sally's discussion if the girls make a move to head our way, "Seems to me his involvement only makes everythin' more complicated than it already is."

"I tried to tell Randall the same thing. But ya know how he gets when there's a bee in his bonnet."

After listenin' to her reply, I find that I am only able to manage a mere nod for a moment, my thoughts turnin' in on themselves as I try and fail to suppress the faint apprehension that steals over me in response to her words. With as well as I know Randall McCoy, I cannot find any inklin' that his wife is merely exaggeratin' when she says he is determined to have Perry Cline come along for the ride, no matter how miniscule the case may be. And perhaps it is for that reason, and that reason alone that I am able to force myself to reply once more, my eyes meetin' Sally's across the table so that I can attempt to convey my surety in her husband's actions, even if I cannot quite believe in them myself.

"Indeed I do, Sally. Indeed I do."

"An' speakin' of bees an' bonnets," My companion adds, leanin' forward just a bit, and lowerin' her voice as if to lend the conversation a conspiratorial air, "Have ya heard from the girl's pa?"

"Heavens, no. Haven't heard from him since her mama died, an' good riddance, too."

"Somethin' tells me that will change, soon."

"Sally, ya know darn well—"

"Ya better get your niece settled with a man soon, Doc, even if that man ain't my son," Sally persists, her expression turnin' distant, as though she's seein' somethin' that no one else can.

"Get her settled, an' see that she's treated right, 'cause no man her pa fixes up for her will do the same."

…


	10. Afternoon Stroll

(Lanie POV)

The followin' mornin' I find myself situated beside my uncle, helpin' him to hold a man's upper arm steady while he stitches up a rather sizeable gash in the skin of the forearm. Apparently, he had been out in one of his fields when one of his boys misaimed a scythe while tryin' to cut hay, and he failed to get out of the way in time—and although I am personally just a bit doubtful regardin' the truth of that assertion, especially given how he seems almost sheepish when describin' the incident, I keep my mouth shut, choosin' to focus my attention on holdin' him steady so my uncle can do his work without any unnecessary movement, instead.

"Almost done, here," My uncle assures, clearly aware of his patient's obvious wince, and yet still findin' the time to send me a smile of encouragement before returnin' to the task at hand, "Then Lanie'll get ya some bandages an' a cream to put on to keep away infection."

"Do what ya gotta do, Doc. I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it. My girl's got herself a gentle touch."

"Yeah. That she does," Our patient agrees, glancin' my way, and takin' note of the answerin' flush in my cheeks with a faint grin of his own, "Ya trainin' her to take over when you retire?"

"Tell ya the truth, I hadn't really thought o' that yet."

"Ain't gettin' any younger, Doc—"

"You sure that's a wise thing to say to the man holdin' a needle in your arm?"

Laughter erupts in the tiny office room in response to my uncle's joke, his eyes twinklin' just a bit as he spares another glance my way before finishin' the last of his stitches, and tyin' them off.

"There. In a few weeks, all you'll have to remember this by is a thin scar."

"I guess I can't be complainin' too much about that. Thanks, Doc," The man replies, shakin' my uncle's hand, before turnin' his attention to me while I relinquish my hold upon his arm in favor of reachin' over to hand him his shirt, "An' thank you too, little lady."

"Was my pleasure," I state, managin' a faint smile of my own before grabbin' the small pot of cream restin' on the table beside him so that I can begin the task of rubbin' it over the now-thin line tracin' down the skin of his arm, "An' no trouble at all."

"You wanna take over for your uncle, girl? When he's gone?"

In response to the man's question, innocent as it may be, I find that I am fallin' prey to a pang of unease, regardless, the thought of my uncle one day departin' this world far more painful than I am prepared to admit. I know, of course, that eventually a day will come when he leaves me behind, goin' to join my mama in singin' with the angels. And if it came down to it, I also know that if it was a choice between watchin' him suffer in this world, or havin' him know peace in the next, I would choose givin' him that peace no matter the cost. But regardless of my certainty on that particular matter, I am still powerless against the near to overwhelmin' sadness that threatens to overtake me at the thought of goin' on without the man that has been the same as a safe harbor for me ever since mama died an' my daddy left without a trace.

Aware that my unexpected bout of silence has garnered not only the attention of our patient, but my uncle as well, I force myself to clear my throat and straighten my posture in hopes of givin' off an appearance of calm determination before finally givin' the man a reply to his inquiry from before.

"I—I guess I wouldn't mind it. That is, if my uncle is willin' to trust me with it all."

"You can bet your life that he is, sweet girl," Uncle Elliott promises me, movin' to stand at my side, and placin' a calloused hand on my shoulder so that he might give it a reassurin' squeeze, "But don't you plan on getting' rid of me soon, darlin'. I'm not goin' anywhere."

"I'm glad of that, Uncle Elliott."

"Why don't ya go on ahead and finish bandagin' up this gentleman's arm, an' I'll see to cleanin', then. Won't do to keep him waitin' on account of a sentimental family moment."

Smilin' at him, and noddin' my head by way of agreement, I gently extricate myself from beneath the gentle hold of his hand upon my shoulder, my fingers curlin' around the strips of the bandages I had prepared before our patient arrived. One by one, I situate them 'round his arm, makin' sure to secure them tight enough so they won't budge if he does a little work, but not too tight where they start cuttin' off his circulation, my brow furrowin' as I focus diligently upon my work. I am so intent upon tyin' off each strip of fabric as neatly as I can that I do not register the sound of a soft knockin' on the door in the hallway beyond, any more than I notice the soft thuds made by my uncle's boots as he moves past me, and heads out the office door to answer those knocks while I work.

The sounds of hushed voices chattin' in the hall reaches my ears just as I am finishin' up with the last of the bandages, my eyes meetin' my patient's head-on so that I can give him a nod to indicate he is alright to start puttin' his shirt back on while I clear the strips I didn't need to use from the table beside where he sits. Those voices were gettin' closer as I take the liberty of skirtin' around the table to fold the strips up and put them back in the drawer where they belong—and it isn't long before I find myself turnin' back to reassess the patient, and determine if he needs any help getting' into his shirt, my eyes widenin' almost immediately as I realize exactly who it is standin' beside my uncle in the doorway.

"Calvin?"

"Hey, Lanie."

"Calvin, here, wants to know if you'd be willin' to let him walk ya 'round town after we finish up here," Uncle Elliott supplies, one corner of his mouth turnin' up as he glances between Calvin and myself, and takes note of how I have essentially frozen in place in response to my surprise. Truthfully, it is as though some higher power has stolen my ability to speak, my eyes flicking from my uncle and Calvin in the doorway, to the man who is now standin' with his shirt fully buttoned, watchin' this entire scenario with a keen sort of interest that unnerves me, to say the least. But before he can get too much entertainment out of starin' at my dumbfounded expression, I am mercifully able to summon the wherewithal to speak, my voice soft, yet not as tremulous as I feared they might've been as I force my eyes to meet my uncle's with obvious curiosity over his intentions.

"I'd be happy to, long as you don't need me to stay 'round here if more patients arrive—"

"I think I can handle it alright from here, even if they do, darlin'. I ain't that close to retirement, yet."

"Alright," I concede, aware of the growin' flush that has risen once again to cover my cheeks, and avertin' my gaze to the floor for a moment in hopes of regainin' some composure. I cannot explain it fully—how my nerves are all of a sudden flutterin' as though someone has just suggested that I stand before the entire town to deliver a speech. But even in the face of how my heart has taken up the act of poundin' against my rib cage, I force myself to lift my chin up so that I am lookin' at Calvin directly, a faint smile curvin' against my lips while my hands drop to smooth my skirt for want of anythin' better to do.

"I'll just go grab a shawl from my room?"

"Sure. I'll be waitin' down here for ya," Calvin says, grinnin' back at me in a way that has my hands tremblin' against the fabric of my skirt while I walk past him and head for the stairs. In spite of my sudden case of nerves, I find that I am genuinely eager for a chance to spend some time with Calvin on his own, away from the pryin' eyes of his brothers, and though I love her to death, from Roseanna's influence as well.

If that makes me a selfish person, for abandonin' my uncle, and preferrin' a man's company over that of my dearest friend, then I suppose I'll just have to accept whatever recompense God delivers when it comes…

…

"Looks like you're doin' well for yourself, Lanie," Calvin remarks, extendin' an arm for me to take so that he can lead us down the sidewalk that heads towards the center of town, "Your uncle's lucky to have ya."

"I think it might just be the other way around. I'm the lucky one."

"Ya mean with him takin' ya in after your mama passed?"

"I do," I confirm, riskin' a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and findin' myself surprised to discover that he is watchin' me earnestly, as though truly curious over why I would say such a thing to begin with, "Since my Pa left, there's no tellin' where I would've gone."

"Ya coulda come to stay with us."

"Calvin—"

"It's true," Calvin persists, usin' the way in which my arm is linked through his own to pull me closer to his side so that another couple movin' in our direction can get past us without either party losin' hold on their partner, "Mama always used to say she'd love havin' another daughter 'round the house."

"Well I appreciate it, really, I do. But she wouldn't have had to do that even if Uncle Elliott hadn't come along. I woulda figured somethin' out."

"But you wouldn't have had to. We'd have taken care of ya. We still will."

"What do you mean?" I ask, somethin' in the way his expression has clouded over for a moment, especially in light of the tail end of his assertion causin' me to feel just the slightest hints of concern, as though he is hidin' somethin' from me that might have the power to impact us both, "What do you mean by 'you still will'?"

"I mean whatever happens down the road, me an' my family'll look after ya," He explains, surprisin' me with how he keeps me tight against his side even after the couple that prompted that closeness to begin with have long since passed us by, "We care about ya, Lanie. Whether ya can see it clearly or not."

Unable to think of a reply that will suitably convey the depth of feelin' that such a statement provides, I opt instead for leanin' my head against Calvin's shoulder and givin' his arm a squeeze, somethin' about the warmth that emanates so easily through him soothin' any uneasiness I might've been feelin' in the wake of the direction in which our conversation had turned. And although I am unwillin' to say or do anythin' that might compromise the comfortable silence that we appear to have lapsed into while we continue walkin' along the sidewalk, I find that my brow is furrowin' for a moment before gatherin' the courage to inquire about the thing I suspect is behind Calvin's assertion in the first place.

"This have anythin' to do with your Papi's missin' pig?"

"How'd ya guess?"

"It's been weighin' on my mind," I admit, directin' my eyes to rest on the sidewalk ahead of us in hopes of grantin' myself a bit more time to explain my apparent intuition, "You find it yet?"

"Not yet," Calvin replies, his tongue dartin' out to wet his lips for a moment before he clears his throat, and brings us to a stop beside a bench in front of the general store, "Papi thinks it was stolen by one of the Hatfields."

"Is that what you think?"

"Honestly, Lanie? I don't really know. Floyd does live down the road from us, a ways—"

"That doesn't mean he stole your pig."

"No—no, it doesn't. But it does seem to give Papi reason enough to think of the idea of blamin' him, no matter what."

"He goin' after him?" I inquire, hopin' that the tone of my words won't seem too forceful, particularly as I really have no business pokin' my nose in his family's affairs.

"Don't think he can, without any proof," Calvin muses, movin' towards the bench, and guidin' me to sit beside him before goin' on, "Even with the grudge that's cloudin' his judgment on the matter, I think he knows that."

"You think so?"

"I do. An' he'll do what he can to keep Tolbert in line 'til we have somethin' to go on."

"Somehow I doubt there's anythin' in this world that can keep Tolbert in line if he really wants to be let loose," I state, watchin' as Calvin's hand reaches for my own, and he threads our fingers together as easily as though they were meant to be that way all along, "He's got too much fire in his blood."

"Now you sound like my mama."

"I do?"

"Yeah, ya do," Calvin begins, givin' my hand a little squeeze, and leanin' back against the bench while simultaneously givin' me a look that indicates I should do the same, "Think I see why she likes ya so much."

"Is that the only reason?" I quip, my mouth turnin' up in a grin as I recognize Calvin's answerin' laugh while he shakes his head and replies.

"One of the many, I think."

"Are there really that many?"

"Well I'd be lyin' if I said I should be speakin' for her," Calvin teases, bumpin' his shoulder against mine, and squeezin' my hand again while the look in his eyes as he watches me watchin' him soon has me blushin' for what feels like the hundredth time today, "But I know there are that many for me."

"Calvin—"

"There are, Lanie," He insists, brown eyes holdin' mine with a startlin' amount of success, even in spite of how I can feel my cheeks burnin' so fiercely that it surprises me when he is not lookin' away, "An' I'm gonna make sure you believe that, even if it kills me."

In spite of my desire to give him some sort of reply, at the least conveyin' my appreciation for the obvious sincerity in his words, I find that I am once again speechless, my gaze ducking down to our entwined fingers once again while I attempt swallowin' past the lump that has formed in my throat. The emotions I'm feelin' in the wake of his confession are near to overwhelmin', especially as I have absolutely no way of knowin' what I've done to inspire it. But even in the face of that very fact, I know I have to say somethin', my brow furrowin' for a moment before I force myself to look at Calvin once again, only to notice that his expression is open and patient, in spite of my delay.

"I can't tell ya how much that means, to me, Calvin—"

"You don't have to. I won't rush ya," Calvin assures me, sincerity apparent in his tone, even as he brings our hands up so that he can brush his lips against my knuckles so lightly I might not have even realized it if I weren't lookin' right at him, "But can ya at least promise me one thing?"

"Sure," I agree, managin' a faint nod, and keepin' my eyes fixed on our hands as Calvin lowers them back to their former place between us, and I find myself torn between elation that someone is even capable of feelin' somethin' like that about me, and confusion over how in the wake of that realization, my thoughts have inadvertently drifted to another person, entirely.

One that has another family name…

"Promise me you'll come to my home for dinner this Sunday," Calvin says, surprisin' me with the sudden grin that takes over his features as I give him an answerin' smile almost immediately, and nod my head in agreement.

"Yeah. Yeah, Calvin, I think I can manage that."

…

"Well now, darlin', how was you're walk?" Uncle Elliott inquires, startlin' me out of my silent musin's, and causin' me to jump as I force myself to look his way, instead of at the dyin' embers of the fire in our hearth. After Calvin brought me back home, my uncle had convinced him to stay for a dinner of leftover pork an' beans, but not long after that he was tellin' us his family'd be expectin' him home before dark.

"It was—it was nice, Uncle Elliott," I admit, the fingers of one hand pickin' at the edge of the sofa cushion I am sittin' on, givin' me somethin' to rest my eyes on instead of meetin' my uncle's gaze head-on. I know, somehow, that if I do look him in the eyes, he'll be able to see in mere seconds how conflicted I am, even though I should be nothin' but happy about the developments of this afternoon and evening…

In spite of the fact that I know he only ever means well, the thought of him questionin' me on the exact nature of my feelin's regardin' Calvin McCoy seems to be more than I can bear, at least for the time bein'.

"Just nice? Now that don't seem right, considerin' I saw how you two were holdin' hands as though your lives depended on it when ya came back home—"

"Were we really that bad?"

"You are certainly not bad, sweetheart. It pleases me, seein' ya happy, an' taken care of."

"But you take care of me," I protest, my brow furrowin' as I recognize that our conversation is strayin' back to the brief discussion earlier this afternoon about him not always bein' by my side, "You do more than enough to see that I'm happy."

"I'm glad you feel that way, darlin'. But it does an old man some good to realize that a girl he cares for can be protected by others if he's ever not up to the task himself."

"You plannin' on leavin' me, then?" I demand, frownin' a bit as I realize that my voice has cracked mid-question, in spite of my desire to avoid it, thus promptin' my uncle to get up from his rockin' chair so that he can move instead to sit beside me and loop his arm 'round my shoulder to pull me against his side.

"Not any time soon, Lanie-girl. But that won't stop me from wantin' to see ya looked after, no matter what."

"Don't ya think I can look after myself, even a little? I've learned a lot since ya brought me here, ya know—"

"I know that, darlin'," My uncle acknowledges, givin' my shoulders a squeeze, and droppin' a kiss against my temple before goin' on, "An' I have no doubt in my mind that you'll see things done right 'round here after I'm gone."

"Then why—"

"Why am I so set on ya havin' someone else around, regardless?"

Noddin' in confirmation of his suspicion regardin' my next question, I find myself surprised by the almost immediate chuckle he gives in response, one brow quirkin' up in a silent question of the reason behind his apparent amusement. I don't have to wait too long for an answer, it seems, my uncle's expression straightenin' just a bit as he clears his throat, and wets his lips with his tongue before he speaks.

I would be lyin' if I were to pretend that his words did not give me some food for thought, regardless of how they simultaneously filled me with an inexplicable sense of dread, as well…

"I want to see ya safe, Lanie, no matter what comes our way in the next few years," He begins, pressin' one more kiss against my temple before he is removin' his arm from its place around my shoulders, and standin' so that he can stretch his spine, even in the face of the muted pop of protest it gives in response.

"An' if I can see ya that way with a man that makes ya happy as well, then I'd call that a gift from our Lord above, an' die in peace."

…


	11. Dinner Plans

(Lanie POV)

The remainder of the week passes by rather quickly compared to what I was expectin', my time split evenly between helpin' my uncle with his patients, an' takin' care of my chores 'round the house as well. In truth, I find a quiet sort of joy in what it is that I'm doin', despite how, at least with respect to tendin' to patients, it is hardly the sort of stuff most people think a woman ought to be doin'. An' although I wouldn't be able to give a sure-fire reason behind such a feelin' if anyone ever asked me, I cannot help but remain determined to persist in the act, regardless, the newfound structure to my days givin' me far more comfort than I feel I truly deserve.

Of course, I am not silly enough to ignore the reality of where I came from, knowin' as I do that, but for my uncle's timely intervention in takin' me with him instead of leavin' me to fend for myself after my mama died and my daddy disappeared. Honestly, I don't have a clue what would've happened to me, if I had stayed on the other side of the Tug—

I know Calvin said his family would've taken me in in a heartbeat, and I believe him, but that doesn't stop me from worryin' that I would have been imposin' on good people as a result, no matter how sincere he seemed when he was tellin' me the fact in the first place.

Regardless of whatever might have happened, or not, though, I am well aware that I am more blessed than most when it comes to the direction my life has gone in, so far. I was quite literally plucked from the ashes, so to speak, and given another chance at livin' in a world that might not be so fraught with uncertainty and fear. Even with the brewin' unrest between two families that I am bold enough to consider my friends, I am nowhere near as frightful as I would've been stayin' at home, waitin' on the next beatin' from my daddy whether I deserved it or not.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I find my mind tracin' back to the conversation I overheard 'tween my uncle and Sally McCoy back when she brought Roseanna to visit me what feels like ages ago. I only heard a part of it, but that was enough to have my blood freezin' in my veins, and forcin' me to scramble to recollect my thoughts before Roseanna can see that I had become so distracted I very nearly drop the bowl I'm holdin' with my own two hands.

"Get her settled, an' see that she's treated right, 'cause no man her pa fixes up for her will do the same."

I knew I shouldn't have been eavesdroppin'—I had been raised better than that by my mama, may she rest in peace, an' it hurt to imagine how disappointed she might be to know what I had done if she was alive right now. But nothin' I could do now would change the fact that I had willingly taken a listen to my uncle's conversation with the McCoy matriarch, an' all I could do now was try to determine whether or not to let the knowledge gained from the act trouble me, or not.

What Sally said confused me, to say the least, especially since I had no way of knowin' what it might mean. My pa was long gone. I hadn't heard one iota from him since the day after my mama died. So why on earth would he have any say at all in who I might one day marry?

I suppose it couldn't be that much of a stretch to presume that he might come back one day, despite the fact that doin' so brought a chill of fear to race down my spine. The very thought of seein' my daddy again is terrifyin', no matter that I know without a doubt that my uncle will not let him hurt me again, like he did when we lived 'cross the Tug. And although I wish I could force such thoughts away from me as though they were nothin' more than wisps of smoke, I find that I am entirely incapable of doin' so.

Or at least, I am until the sound of heavy footsteps reaches my ear from the hallway behind the room in which I'm standin', forcin' me to whirl to face that sound and givin' me leave to realize that my uncle has come in from tendin' his garden to check on my progress, inside.

"You alright, darlin'?" He inquires, his brow furrowin' as he takes in how I appear to have frozen in place for a moment, before he steps further into the room, and I return to the task of brushin' some bits of dust away from the surface of the table I am standin' beside.

"Yeah. I—I'm fine, Uncle Elliott," I assure, doin' my best to manage a faint smile for his benefit, before I realize he is gesturin' for me to take a seat beside him on the nearby sofa by pattin' the cushion with one weathered hand, "I just need to finish cleanin' up in here, a bit."

"I think the room'll let ya take a little break, sweetheart. Come over here an' sit beside me for a bit."

Doin' what I'm told, I find that my uncle's hand almost immediately reaches for, and grabs onto my own, the callouses of his palm somehow soothin' against the smooth texture of my own hand. For a moment, I am distracted by that simple realization—by the fact that in a single motion, my uncle has already succeeded in calmin' my anxiousness before he's even said a word. But before I can become too lost in marvelin' at the weight of his hand atop my own, I find he is speakin' to me once again, his tone gentle but no less persuasive as I force myself to look him in the eye to seem more attentive to what he has to say.

"Somethin's troublin' you. I know it is," He begins, rubbin' the pad of his thumb against my hand for just a moment before he is given it a squeeze, and pullin' away so that he can lean back against the cushion of the sofa before goin' on, "An' I want to make sure you know you can come to me, whatever it is, Lanie."

"I—I know that, Uncle Elliott."

"Then why won't ya tell me, darlin? It hurts me, seein' ya so worried at your young age."

Forcin' myself to look at my uncle once again, I flinch as I realize my teeth have started chewin' idly at my lower lip to give evidence to my apprehension, my internal thoughts warrin' with themselves as I try to decide whether I stand more of a chance at relief through full honesty, or keepin' what I overheard locked away inside. I know, somehow, that my uncle will not be angry with me if I tell him the truth—not really. And so, despite my apparent nerves, I find myself squarin' my shoulders and scootin' back just a bit on the sofa, myself, before I take a deep breath and prepare myself for tellin' him what I heard.

"When Roseanna came over the other day, I—I might've heard you an' Missus McCoy talkin' when we were preparin' food in the kitchen," I confess, watchin' my uncle's expression carefully, and breathin' a faint sigh of relief when I realize it seems more understandin' than anythin' else, "I—I heard what she said about my pa, an'—an' a match?"

"I see. An' you're scared it means your daddy's comin' back for ya?"

"I don't know what it means. But I know it has to mean somethin' or Missus McCoy wouldn't have said it."

"I think maybe you're overthinkin' things, Lanie," My uncle cautions, regardin' me for just a moment in silence, while one hand reaches up to smooth an errant wisp of hair back from his brow, "Sally has a history of sayin' things that don't always make a lot of sense. An' they certainly don't always come true."

"But some of them do. Don't they?" I ask him, my hands foldin' together of their own accord after placin' them in my lap, while my brow furrows in obvious concern while I wait for my uncle to reply. Spendin' as much time as I did around the McCoys growin' up, I heard plenty of talk about Sally's occasional tendency to start talkin' about stuff that hadn't exactly happened yet. And whether I believe in that sort of ability completely myself, or not, I would be a fool to pretend that the prospect doesn't send me into fits of worry, regardless.

If she does have a 'gift', so to speak, I don't really want to be the one to question it.

"Some of that might just be luck, darlin'. Hard to tell."

"If I'm bein' honest, it seems like a little more than that, Uncle Elliott."

"Well you've always had a good head on your shoulders, sweetheart. One of the things I love about ya," Uncle Elliott begins, fixin' me with a faint smile, before scootin' forward so that he can grab my hand once again, and give it another squeeze, "I trust it won't take ya long to realize for yourself that if your daddy ever does come back, I won't let him hurt ya."

"I know that. I do."

"Then can ya do me a favor, Lanie-girl? Just this once?"

"Sure," I reply, managin' a smile more for my uncle's benefit than my own, and findin' myself relieved when he seems to take it as a promisin' sign, rather than an attempt to act more certain than I feel, "What is it?"

"Trust that I'm gonna keep ya safe, no matter what comes our way," He requests, smilin' back at me for a moment before releasin' my hand, and risin' to head towards the kitchen instead, "An' believe me when I say you won't be marryin' anyone unless ya love 'em with your whole heart."

He cannot possibly know it, but his words have proved to be far more reassurin' than I might ever have believed.

…

(Calvin POV)

I'm more nervous than I think I've ever been in my life, ridin' next to my Poppy in the family wagon, so that we can pick Lanie up for Sunday dinner, my palms sweatin' so fiercely that I have to keep rubbin' them against my knees in an attempt to stop it. Already, I can hear my brothers teasin' me about it, though thankfully enough, Poppy agreed it should just be me an' him that go to get her from her uncle's place. But no matter how much I don't particularly enjoy the thought of their jokes and remarks, I am entirely too distracted at the prospect of seein' Lanie again to pay it much mind.

I know she'll want to visit with Roseanna again, as well, while she's stayin' with my family, but I find myself unable to avoid wishin' that I'll get some time with her on my own, as well.

As if he can sense the wayward direction of my thoughts, Poppy glances my way almost immediately, his eyes searchin' my features for a moment with such an intensity that I am forced to avert my gaze to where my hands rest against my thighs in the hope that he won't see my cheeks flushin' a deep color of read. I know all too well the direction this conversation'll take if he thinks I'm havin' impure thoughts—an' so I do what I can to school my expression into somethin' innocent, despite the fact that the only reason I have for getting' Lanie alone is to see if I can make her laugh again, like I did before.

That sound had been far closer to heaven than I might've expected and I'd be lyin' if I tried to say I wasn't prepared to do whatever it took to hear that sound again.

"Ya excited to see your friend, Calvin?" Poppy asks, slappin' the reins against the horses' flanks to get them to go just a bit faster, an' keepin' his eyes on me for just a moment longer before he is returnin' them to the road while I reply.

"Yeah, Poppy. I reckon I am."

"Your mama's pretty eager to see her again, as well. An' Roseanna."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to see them as well."

"I'm happy to have her 'round, too, Calvin. Just so long as she doesn't let her association with Devil Anse an' his kin cloud her mind when it comes to us."

"She won't, Poppy," I promise, more than a little startled that he's already decidin' to have a problem with Lanie's time spent with the Hatfield clan, especially since the only reason she was even near 'em to begin with was 'cause of helpin' her uncle, "She's not involved with their bad decisions 'gainst us. And she never would be, either."

"That's good to hear," Poppy replies, managin' a terse nod, and slappin' the reins once again as we move along down the familiar road leadin' to Doc Rutherford's place, "Them Hatfields have a way of getting' to people, though. Makin' 'em see things through their eyes."

"Lanie ain't like that. She loves Roseanna, an' I—I hope she might feel that way 'bout me, eventually, too."

"Well for your sake, son, I hope that does turn out the way ya want. 'Cause if she goes over to Devil Anse, I'm gonna need to know you'll keep a clear head."

"I'll keep a clear head. Ya don't have to worry none about that," I state, silently thankin' God above that my voice remains steady in spite of the shiver of apprehension that courses through me in response to the barely concealed threat that I can sense in Poppy's words. His hatred for all Hatfields, an' his stubborn pride, coupled with a fierce need to protect his own is no secret to me, of course, havin' spent the majority of my life learnin' first hand that a man's duty is to keep his family safe, no matter what. But regardless of how much his preachin' over that very fact is all but ingrained in my memory, I am still just a bit startled that he appears willin' to actually consider a girl I know is nothin' but sweet an' innocent to be a threat to our family…

I know Lanie would never do a thing to harm my family, and I find myself hopin' beyond hope that, no matter his own feelin's on the matter, Poppy won't say anythin' to her about it on our ride back home.

…

Fortunately, my prayers appear to have been answered as it pertains to gettin' Lanie back 'cross the Tug without Poppy askin' her a hundred questions about her time with the Hatfields, my relief only dampened by the fact that since we got back home, Roseanna has made it her mission to keep her to herself. I know she's not doin' it on purpose, of course, especially since I know I would've been a fool to imagine Lanie wouldn't want to help her an' Mama prepare dinner, no matter how much they might protest, seein' as she's our guest.

Still, I would be lyin' if I said I wasn't just a bit worried that the time she has with us will go by without me ever gettin' a chance to spend some time with her on our own.

Sittin' at the table 'tween Poppy an' Perry Cline, though, I have a perfect line of sight to watch Lanie at work in our family kitchen, her auburn hair twisted up in a knot at the back of her head, with little tendrils driftin' down to frame her face. The color of her dress brings out the blue of her eyes so vividly that it damn near takes my breath away. But of course, before I can spend too much time thinkin' on that very fact, Tolbert takes the liberty of ploppin' down across from me at the table, a sly grin twitchin' at the corners of his mouth before he speaks.

"Don't let her catch ya starin', Calvin. Ain't polite."

"I'm not starin', Tolbert. Why don't ya mind your own business?"

"Seems to me the same could be said for you. You're the one who can't take your eyes off of her when she's cookin' in our kitchen."

"Maybe I'm just watchin' because I'm hungry," I retort, catchin' Tolbert's almost immediate roll of the eyes, an' choosin' to press on, regardless, "Lord knows you've done that enough, starin' at Mama an' Roseanna as though ya think it'll make 'em move any faster."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, Calvin. Maybe one day, it'll actually be true."

Decidin' I'm better off not givin' Tolbert's remarks any more of my time, I opt instead for divertin' my attention to whatever it is that Poppy is discussin' with Perry Cline, only to find that their conversation seems to rely solely upon the matter of our missin' pig. I suppose I am not surprised, given how the entire ordeal has rendered Poppy hot an' bothered more often than not. But still, I'd have liked to think that maybe he might've abandoned his rantin' an' talks of conspiracies 'tween the Hatfield kin since we have a guest, today…

I guess not.

"Seems to me you have a case built up all on your own. All that remains is taking it to a judge to get a verdict," Perry advises, leanin' back in his chair, and turnin' his head to look at the women in our kitchen just as I had been doin' just a moment before, "Course, I'd be happy to plead the case for you. For a reasonable price."

"We'll pay whatever you need, Perry. It's well past time the Hatfields got what's theirs."

"You might have a time finding a sympathetic judge, Randall. Hatfields themselves own the courts on the other side of the Tug."

"Then I shall trust in the Lord to see that justice prevails," Poppy replies, foldin' both arms across his chest, while a look of pure and utter surety in what he is proposin' we do passes across his face. Honestly, it troubles me—how willin' he seems to be to use the word of God to justify his actions when they don't seem that much different than some of the ones the Hatfields have made, themselves. But before I can make any sort of attempt at decidin' whether or not I should be bold enough to say such a thing out loud, I once again catch Perry Cline's gaze flickerin' to the kitchen, my eyes narrowin' just a bit as I realize he has fixed his attention on Roseanna without her knowin'.

An' here I thought Tolbert was just pullin' my leg when he told me the lawyer was fixin' to marry our sister…

Determined to distract the man, no matter how futile the act may be, I decide at the last possible minute to involve myself in the conversation at hand, clearin' my throat just a bit, and consequently gainin' the attention of both Poppy, and Perry as well, while I take advantage of the silence that has temporarily sprung up 'tween them to put my two cents in before the opportunity disappears altogether.

"Ya think we might need witnesses?" I inquire, keepin' an eye on Perry, an' by extension, Roseanna as well, and findin' myself pleased that my sudden interjection appears to have garnered the lawyer's full attention, at least for the time-bein', "To help our case, an' all?"

"Any and all of the McCoy kin that will testify," Perry confirms, glancin' at Poppy, an' steeplin' his fingers together as though hopin' the gesture will give him some sort of insight into the case at hand, "I believe it might be reasonable to assume they know the breed, and any special markings the pig in question might bear?"

"They surely do. My sons were raised knowin' how I mark my pigs so we know which ones are ours if they wander off."

"Then I believe we have ourselves a few suitable witnesses to call to the stand, if needs be."

"Seems to me it's mighty silly—all this talk over suin' for a pig," Mama says, startlin' me with her sudden insight, since I hadn't expected her to come towards the table with a platter of food quite so soon, "People'll think we're the village idiot."

"Sally—" Poppy warns, his tone brookin' no argument as he glances at my Mama, an' gives her a look that has her clampin' her mouth shut quicker than she opened it to start with. In truth, I almost feel bad for her, particularly 'cause of the fact that I tend to agree with her as far as this pig suit is concerned. And although I find myself once again torn 'tween sayin' somethin' to take her side, and wipe that frown from her face, or stayin' silent and lettin' Poppy think I share his beliefs, I force myself to do the latter, my apprehension only resurfacin' once I realize that Lanie has started walkin' over to the table with a platter of steamin' mashed potatoes in her hands, her eyes fixed on mine while Perry speaks once again.

"So, what will it be, Randall?" He inquires, only barely managin' to suppress his apparent excitement over the prospect of the potential for a lawsuit 'gainst the Hatfields, and disgustin' me with how the smile that lines his face is nothin' less than predatory once he hears Poppy's reply.

"I say we sue."

To say anythin' other than that the look of horror that dawns across Lanie's delicate features stabs through my heart like a knife would have been a lie…

…


	12. Pig Sue

(Lanie POV)

"Ya alright, Lanie?" Roseanna asks me, her blonde hair fallin' over her shoulder as she leans towards me so that her inquiry will not draw too much attention from the rest of her family gathered around the table, eatin' their supper, "Ya haven't said much since we sat down."

"I'm fine, Roseanna. Promise."

"Ya sure?"

"I'm sure," I confirm, forcin' a faint smile to my lips as I turn to face my friend, and realize that she is lookin' at me with nothin' but concern in her wide blue eyes, "Just hungry, is all."

"Okay. As long as ya know I'm here whenever ya need to talk," My friend persists, reachin' over to give my hand a squeeze, before turnin' her attention back to her own plate, and spearin' a carrot with her fork. Truth be told, I'm doubtin' my ability to talk to her about what really concerns me at the moment, particularly as it has to do with her family, and the suit her poppy wants to bring against Mister Hatfield without a second thought. Since Randall mentioned his decision just before we all sat down to eat, I've been able to think of next to nothin' else—a fact that clearly caught Roseanna's attention no matter how hard I tried to avoid it. And although I do not particularly want to, I force myself to turn my thoughts back to the hushed conversation at hand around the McCoy dinner table, knowin' that if I don't, I will only cause suspicion to fall more heavily upon me as a result of my silence than it may have already done on its own.

"Food tastes good, Sally," Perry Cline remarks just as I come back to the conversation round the table, one hand liftin' his glass in what I can only interpret as a gesture of thanks, before takin' a sip, and placin' the glass back on the table, only to grab for his fork once again, "You an' the girls did very well."

"Thank ya, Perry. It does a body good to hear their work is appreciated."

"Seems it's more important that it does the Lord good," Randall interjects, absolute conviction etched upon his features, despite the fact that his remark has provoked a smirk from Perry Cline, and a swift roll of the eyes from Tolbert, before the redhead redirects his attention back to the task of fillin' his plate up with a second helpin' of chicken, "It is not for us to take credit for the things He has ordained from on high."

"Then I think it's not all that far-fetched to say that He has given your wife a lovely gift. The girls, too," Perry suggests, managin' a smile for Roseanna's benefit as well as my own, before poppin' a piece of chicken in his mouth to chew an' swallow it so he can speak again, "They're gonna make two men very lucky one day."

"I'm not lookin' to get rid of Roseanna just yet, Perry. An' I'm not too sure Doc Rutherford is with Lanie, neither."

"I was not suggesting such a thing, Randall. Not in the slightest. I was simply commenting that whenever they do marry, they will make for lovely wives, as God meant them to be."

Sharin' a glance with Roseanna in response to Perry's words, I am pleased to note that my friend does not appear to be any more thrilled about bein' discussed as though we are not present than I am, though we both know sayin' anythin' wouldn't do either one of us any good. It isn't like we don't know what is expected of us, particularly as it pertains to makin' a good home, and raisin' babies with the man God chooses for us to love. But try though I might to simply accept that as my lot in life I cannot help but acknowledge the fact that I've always seemed to want somethin' more than that, whether it is good for me or not…

If the look on my dear friend's face is any indication, it seems clear that Roseanna just might want the same thing.

Still, I do my best to keep my face impassive as I realize that both Perry and Randall have directed their attention towards Roseanna and I, as though darin' us to say anythin' that might contradict their claims. I can't really blame them for thinkin' like they do, seein' as my own daddy felt the same about my future, even though he went about showin' it in an entirely different way. An' although some small part of me is uncomfortable beneath the weight of their combined gaze, I force myself to meet it head-on, only shiftin' just enough so that my shoulder can brush against Roseanna's in hopes of providin' her some semblance of comfort before I say what I think they have so clearly expected us to all along.

"I can only hope I live up to that expectation, Mister McCoy—Lawyer Cline. An' I'm sure Roseanna does, as well."

"I do, Poppy. I wanna be a good wife, just like the Lord intends me to."

Our responses seem to satisfy the men, at least for the time-bein', the conversation turnin' towards other things while I find myself sharin' a look with Calvin where he sits across the table from me. I can't really tell what he's thinkin' about what his poppy and Perry Cline had to say on the subject of marriage and a woman's job to make a good home for her family, what with how all he offers me is a faint smile before turnin' his attention back to his dinner. Of course, I didn't miss the slight flush that's spreadin' 'cross his cheeks, and I'm fairly certain it might just be the main reason behind him avertin' his gaze as soon as I met it head-on. But before I can decide if I want to be bold enough to attempt drawin' him into conversation on my own, Randall's voice rings out over the table once again, causin' me to exhale a gentle sigh while preparin' for a long afternoon of listenin' to his attempt at preachin'.

"Seems fittin' we take the time to thank the Lord for our good fortune, both in our meal, an' the light of His justice shinin' down on us on the matter of our missin' pig…"

…

After Roseanna and I helped Sally and Alifair clearin' up the dishes from our meal, I find myself sittin' on the front porch of the McCoy home with Calvin at my side, my cheeks still burnin' from the subtle smile Roseanna gave me before followin' after Tolbert an' Jim on a walk down to the fields. At first, I'd honestly been intendin' on joinin' them, though I'd be a liar if I said a small part of me hadn't wanted to remain behind with Calvin in the first place. But almost as soon as my foot had stepped down off the porch, Roseanna was turnin' to me with one of her subtle grins takin' over her features, her blue eyes dancin' in mischief as she shook her head and gestured back to the porch for me to stay put.

"I'll go on ahead wit' Tolbert an' Jim, Lanie. Why don't you just stay here an' keep Calvin company for a spell?"

That was all it took for me to sit on the edge of the porch, it seemed, my cheeks burnin' as I manage a glance at Calvin, and a tentative smile crosses his features in response. For his part, he seems about as pleased at our current set of circumstances as I am, myself—a fact that's only made clearer to me in the next few seconds as he glances behind us towards the door of his home as though to ensure we aren't about to be interrupted, an' sidles just a fraction of an inch closer to me as soon as he realizes we are, for all intents an' purposes, on our own.

"Ya really did do a good job wit' dinner, Lanie," He begins, his shoulder brushin' against my own as he leans towards me, while simultaneously reachin' his hand out to thread his fingers through my own as easily as water runnin' over rocks in a stream, "Your mama teach ya how to cook like that?"

"Reckon she did," I reply, a smile tuggin' at the corners of my mouth even as I realize with no small amount of surprise that his mentionin' of my mama doesn't hurt as bad as I thought it might, "But your own mama helped in that, too, Calvin."

"An' she was happy to do it. She likes ya, ya know."

"I think I do, yeah."

"Thinks of ya as her own flesh an' blood. Poppy too," Calvin goes on, aware of how I pull back in surprise, especially at hearin' that Randall McCoy considers me to be like his own kin, and yet choosin' to press on regardless, "He may not say it in so many words like Mama might, but it's true."

"I'm glad to hear it," I assure, doin' what I can to suppress the nerves I feel in response to his assertion, especially since it makes my mixed feelin's about his family's bad blood with the Hatfields that much more prominent in my mind. Truth be told, I don't know how to reconcile those feelin's, no matter how hard I try. But before I can trouble myself too much over that line of thinkin', I find myself startled back to the present by the sensation of Calvin squeezin' gently at my hand, my eyes flickin' to meet his as I realize he's started to speak once again.

"You're worried 'bout your friend, ain't ya?"

"What?"

"You're worried 'bout Will Hatfield," Calvin states, the curiously neutral cast to his assertion causin' my eyes to narrow as I search his features for even the slightest sign that he's upset at the prospect in spite of his apparent desire not to show it. Somehow, I know I can trust him to keep whatever answer I give to himself, an' not go tellin' his poppy 'bout it the second after it leaves my lips. But even with that knowledge, I find I am still hesitatin', my teeth comin' out to worry at my lower lip for a moment before I force myself to give a reluctant nod in response to his question.

"I'm sorry, Calvin. I know your families ain't friends—"

"That don't matter," Calvin says, surprisin' me with the sincerity in his words as he shifts just a bit on the porch so he can face me, still holdin' my hand between us, "Our families may not like each other, but that don't mean I'll hold it 'gainst ya if you're good enough of a person to be worried for one of 'em."

"You're sure?" I inquire, glancin' down at our entwined hands, while my brow furrows in obvious consternation, as though I do not dare believe his words are true, "Cause I feel just awful, like I'm betrayin' all your family's done for me just by thinkin' like this."

"Ya ain't betrayin' nothin', Lanie. Fact, I reckon it's a miracle ya feel the way ya do at all."

"How so?"

"I mean—given ya lost your mama an' all, an'—well—"

"Well, what?"

"Given who your—your poppy was—" Calvin stammers, the way he almost stumbles over the words givin' me ample reason to believe that he means no offense by what he's about to say as he turns his own attention towards our clasped hands for a moment before goin' on, "I just think it's amazin' that you're such a kind an' gentle soul."

"How else would I be, Calvin?" I ask, givin' him a light smile in hopes that he'll take my question as nothin' more than curiosity, instead of comin' as the result of bein' mad over what he said 'bout my daddy.

"A lot less open an' welcomin' than ya are, that's all."

"I think my uncle has a lot to do with the way I am. An' my mama's memory, too."

"Well I think she'd be mighty proud of ya if she could see ya today," Calvin tells me, once again squeezin' my hand, and scootin' even closer to me until our arms didn't stand a chance of not brushin' against each other with every breath we took, "Lord knows I am."

For a minute, I remain frozen in place, my heart poundin' away in my chest as I find myself starin' into Calvin's eyes, waitin' for God only knows what to come. I'd be a fool if I tried pretendin' I didn't suspect he was 'bout to kiss me, just like I'd be stupid tryin' to act like the thought didn't make my already conflictin' feelin's rile up even more. But before I can try an' make heads or tails of my current situation, I feel the tentative pressure of Calvin's lips movin' to cover my own, my eyes closin' almost of their own accord as I settle for simply lettin' this moment play out however it was meant to without pullin' away.

The feel of Calvin's lips on mine isn't all that objectionable, of course, particularly with how gentle he is, as though ready to stop the moment I give him a sign that this is not what I want. A part of me is still startled, given that this is the first time I've kissed anyone 'side from relatives, even though I clearly saw it comin'. But in spite of that surprise, I find that a greater part of me is almost wishin' the moment will never end, the sensation of Calvin's hand freein' itself from my own so that he can move it to gently cup my cheek evokin' a sigh until we are both forced apart by the sudden creakin' sound of the front door swingin' open as someone steps out to join us on the porch.

"Well ain't this sweet," Bud declares, the sight of his growin' smile only makin' me blush as I scoot away from Calvin as quickly as I can with my eyes fixin' on my hands as they come to rest in my lap, "Y'all better be glad it's me comin' out here, 'stead of Poppy."

"Go 'way, Bud—"

"No—no, I think I'm gonna stay."

"Course ya are," Calvin gripes, surprisin' me by scootin' just a bit closer so that he can reach for my hand again, as though actin' in open defiance of Bud's presence plunkin' down on my other side on the edge of the porch, "Never were smart 'nough to realize you're intrudin'."

"Like I said—better me intrudin' than Poppy."

"Reckon you're right."

"Ya know I'm right," Bud persists, laughin' as I finally manage to look him in the eye, only to find that my blush is deepenin' in light of the broad grin that still remains etched upon his face, "Don't worry, Lanie. Poppy'd never blame you for Calvin's forward behavior."

"Seems I was a willin' participant, Bud—"

"Don't matter. You're of the fairer sex. Means ya ain't expected to fend for yourself 'gainst a stronger man."

"I can fend for myself well enough, ya know," I reply, forcin' myself to keep lookin' Bud in the eye even though I can still feel my cheeks burnin' beneath the weight of his gaze, "An' I don't think it's very nice for ya to be teasin' your brother in such a way."

"Calvin knows I got good intentions," Bud states, reachin' around me to nudge at Calvin's shoulder, an' causin' me to laugh in spite of myself as Calvin mirrors his action in mere seconds as retaliation. As I really should've expected, the two brothers are up on their feet, chasin' after one another before I can even blink, their laughter echoin' around the yard, and causin' a genuine smile to break out across my features as I watch their antics from my spot sittin' on the front porch. In truth, it does me some good seein' them playin' around as they are, no matter the obvious storm that's brewin' in the very near future 'cause of Randall's decision to sue the Hatfields over his missin' pig…

With the fingers of one hand liftin' to rest against my lips where Calvin's were mere moments before, I find I am powerless to avoid the dread that coils itself in my stomach at the sudden sensation that whether I wanted to or not, I've planted myself right in the middle of somethin' that will change my life for good.

…

(Will POV)

It feels like it's hotter than hell sittin' amongst my kin waitin' on the farce of a trial Randall McCoy is demandin' over his missin' pig to get started, the heat makin' everyone's tempers flare, on top of how strained things are 'tween our two families as a rule. If I were bein' honest with myself, my feelin's are 'bout the same as my Pa's, regardin' why the hell we're even sittin' here to begin with. But no matter how much I might want to be anywhere else, I guess I know I didn't really have a choice, my hand reachin' up to swat away Uncle Jim's as he leans over to get 'nother glimpse at my injured eye, while I finally break the silence 'tween us with a gruff command.

"Leave it 'lone, Uncle Jim."

"Just wanna see it s'all," Jim replies, once again puttin' his hand in my face, so he can lift the bandage wound around my head to get a look at the eye in question, "Don't see no harm in that."

"It's gone milky. Capped over," I inform, givin' Jim just a few seconds to look at it himself, 'fore I'm pullin away and tuggin' the bandage back down over the eye so no one else gets a look without my permission. Truth be told, I'm still a bit unsure how I feel about it, particularly since I don't really like the prospect of everyone an' their brother starin' at me like I'm some sort of circus attraction they can't get enough of. But before I can say anythin' further to get Uncle Jim off my case, I find I am spared the trouble by the sound of his rough laughter reachin' my ears, his belly shakin' as a result as he leans back 'gainst his own seat before settin' in on me once again.

"Reckon ya'd let that Rutherford girl take a look."

"Only 'cause she's been takin' care of it."

"Ya sure that's the only reason, boy?" My uncle inquires, somethin' in his eyes suggestin' he's suspectin' me of somethin' that ain't entirely true, "Cause from where I'm sittin', seems ya might be sweet on her."

"I'm not sweet on her, Uncle Jim—"

"Sure in hell looks like ya are."

"Yeah, well I'm not," I insist, suddenly wishin' with all I have that this trial will get started soon enough that I don't have to listen to any more of my uncle's babblin' over thinks that don't make sense, "An' anyway, she's got nothin' to do with what we're here for."

"Heard Anse talkin' with Doc Rutherford outside 'fore we all came in," Jim states, clearly ignorin' my sidelong glare, and chucklin' again as I exhale rather forcefully as a result of my pent up irritation over his constant ribbin', "Seems the Doc thinks you're do for another checkup after the trial."

"What's your point, Jim?"

"Ya might be seein' your girl sooner than ya think."

"For the last time, she ain't my girl," I retort, my jaw clenchin' as I fold my arms 'gainst my chest, an' hunker down in my chair as I watch Uncle Wall finally enter the room, an' walk towards the front of it to get this whole thing started, "Let's just get this thing over with, alright?"

For a moment, I think Uncle Jim might just listen to me, his silence fillin' me with an odd combination of relief and suspicion as I watch him turn to glance back at the door of the courthouse in response to the sound of the door openin' once again. For my part, I pay the sound no mind, figurin' all the important players in this farce are already where they need to be. But just as I am prepared to attempt keepin' my attention fixed on Uncle Wall, I register the sensation of Uncle Jim nudgin' at my side with his elbow, his gruff voice an' the words that come tumblin' out of his mouth causin' me to turn and look at what he's just seen myself, my already strained mood rapidly turnin' sour as my one good eye meets with Lanie's while she walks to a seat on the opposite side of the courthouse next to none other than Calvin McCoy.

"Reckon you're right 'bout her not bein' your girl, son. Looks like she's takin' up wit' the enemy, instead…"

…


	13. Conflicted Feelings

(Lanie POV)

Sittin' between Calvin and Roseanna in the courthouse, I find that I can't keep my gaze from continuin' to stray back towards Will Hatfield where he sits on the opposite side of the courtroom. Ever since our eyes met when I first walked in, it feels like a knife is stabbin' in my chest, hoverin' directly over my heart, the unmistakable anger that is so apparent in Will's gaze startlin' me to say the least. A part of me understands, of course, given the obviously hard feelin's that his family has for the McCoys, and I know that, on some level, seein' me with Calvin probably feels like a betrayal of the friendship, such as it is, that had sprung up so unexpectedly since I had helped my uncle tend to his eye. But another part—the childish part of me, most likely, is angry in return for his apparent refusal to understand that I'm not with Calvin out of any desire to hurt him, my eyes burnin' with the sting of unshed tears as I jerk my gaze away from Will, and do my best to simply focus on what is goin' on in the present, instead.

Turned out, the trial has already begun, with Perry Cline standin' before the room at large, hands folded carefully behind his back while he paces the floor. It is clear to me that he enjoys the limelight, such as it is, a slick smile on his face as he surveys the room, as though decidin' how best to start his speech. In seconds, his eyes flick back to where Roseanna sits beside me, almost as if he's tryin' to make sure she's riveted on his every word. But before I can turn my head to see how my best friend is takin' this unwarranted observation, Perry starts to speak, his words rollin' off his tongue in quick succession.

"It is useful to think of the law as a muscle," He begins, finally tearin' his gaze away from Roseanna, and lookin' back at the room as a whole, before goin' on, "And like a muscle, it can be strengthened with proper use."

"Lawyer Cline, the briefer your remarks, the better your case is gonna be received," The judge, who just happens to be one of the Hatfield's kin, warns, apparently not at all amused by the attempt Perry had made at drawin' the court's attention with a carefully crafted beginnin' to his case. In response to his interruption, the lawyer's expression turns sour, givin' evidence to exactly how displeased he was at havin' been cut short. But instead of retortin' and provin' his anger first hand, Perry opts for remainin' silent, his eyes meetin' with Judge Hatfield's as the older of the two men speaks once again, "Is there anyone yaw anna call as witnesses?"

"Both Randall, and Sally McCoy saw the marking on the ear of the hog in question—"

"Well I don't think we gotta call 'em up on the stand just to say so," Judge Hatfield says, his words once again bringin' a frown to Perry Cline's face, though he ignores it just as easily as he had the first time, "To put it plain, the McCoys say it's their pig, and Floyd and his wife say it ain't so. Is the pig in court, today?"

"Ah—no. It ain't."

"Why not?"

"Well—it's done been 'et," Floyd Hatfield admits, the laughter that rises up from the side of the room occupied by his kin provokin' a flash of a smile to cross his features before Judge Hatfield set in on the task of questionin' him once again.

"You got any witnesses that seen the hog 'fore you butchered the swine that can say it's your notch?"

"Didn't know I needed one. Give me a—a couple hours, an' might be I can come up with somebody."

"I've seen it," Another man on the Hatfield side interjects, standin' and swayin' just a bit, though he manages to keep a tight grip on the bottle clutched in one hand, "The hog in question, that is. I seen it with Floyd after he notched it. Do I need'a swear I've seen it on the Bible?"

"I'd advise you not to."

"The pig had black spots," The man insists, wavin' his liquor bottle in the air as though to emphasize his claim, and remainin' seemingly heedless of the fact that the judge's eyes have narrowed as he continues watchin' him from his seat before the courtroom, "Floyd's hand slipped when he notched it. Nearly cut his thumb off."

"That's enough, Bill," Judge Hatfield orders, lookin' every bit as exasperated with the goin's on as his tone implies while glancin' at both sides of the room at the McCoy and Hatfield families in the same motion, "I take it y'all will give Bill Staton's testimony the respect it deserves."

"I ain't quite done, though, ya see—"

"You sit down! Members of the jury, who thinks the hog belongs to Mister Floyd Hatfield?"

Just as every single person on the Hatfield's side of the room finishes raisin' their hands to show their agreement with the judge's inquiry, the man is turnin' his head to the McCoy side of the room, and askin' them the same question in turn.

"An' who believes the hog is Randall McCoy's?"

In contrast to the unified response of the Hatfield side of the court, one member of the McCoy jury remains still, both hands folded in his lap as he stares at them like they're the most fascinatin' thing in the world. For a moment or two I am genuinely confused as to why he's not takin' the side of his family, especially seein' as the rest of them are already levelin' glares his way on account of his lack of response—somethin' that Judge Hatfield seems to want to rectify, if the hard nature of his tone as he breaks the silence in the room is any indication—

"Selkirk McCoy. You didn't vote one way or another."

"He votes Uncle Randall," Paris assures, leanin' over and thwackin' Selkirk in the chest, as though that actually has a shot at persuadin' him to do as he's told.

"He has to be the one to say so."

"Well I'm tryin' to do the right thing here. But truth is, deep down, I—I do believe that pig was one of Floyd's razorbacks," Selkirk finally admits, the suddenly sure nature of his reply causing somethin' unrecognizable to twist in my stomach, while panic seizes my heart like a vice. If Randall McCoy's own kin'll turn against him, I can only imagine how ugly things are gonna get in this courtroom, an' fast, too. An' before I fully realize what it is that I'm doin' I find that I am movin' to stand, an' maneuverin' around Calvin before he can stop me so that I can head towards the door. Dimly, I'm aware of Selkirk sayin' somethin' else, just as I am aware of the answerin' din made by the McCoy side protestin' his assertions as though their lives depend upon it. But although a part of me is mildly embarrassed at havin' departed so quickly, I cannot find it in myself to be ungrateful for the relief provided by the breeze as it drifts over my face, an' blows at my hair, my breathin' evenin' out as I walk over to the railin' and grip it tightly with both hands.

I know I should not be feelin' this nervous—this unsettled that what's goin' on in the courtroom behind me is likely only gonna be the first in a long line of slights that pile up an' add fuel to the fire between Hatfield and McCoy. In truth, I have no real reason to feel that way, not bearin' either last name as my own, and therefore not bein' dead center in what I fear will become a full-blown feud in the very near future. But in spite of that awareness, I cannot help but feel that it will still impact me in ways I can only barely understand, regardless, my friendship with Will Hatfield an' my courtin' Calvin McCoy at the same time givin' me no doubt that I will lose either one, or both of them, before this thing is over for good.

The mere thought of such a thing fills me with dread, and causes my teeth to start worryin' at my lower lip so fiercely that I can taste the metallic tang of blood not long thereafter. But before I can allow myself to get too lost in such a realization, and the cause behind it, I find myself startled back to the present by the sound of approachin' footsteps comin' from somewhere to my right, my eyes dartin' towards the source of the sound, and relief practically floodin' through me as I realize my uncle is headin' my way.

"How's it goin' in there?" He inquires, his eyes roamin' across my features as though he can read them as easily as you could a book, and leavin' me with no other option than givin' him an honest reply, no matter how much I may not want to.

"Not good. I—I left partway through, though."

"You not feelin' good, darlin?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Elliott, I just—I needed some air, is all."

"Why don't ya go ahead an' head back to the office, then. Take a minute, get yourself settled, an' I'll bring Will back as soon as this is all done to get that last look at his eye."

"W—Will—" I stammer, shakin' my head a bit to clear it of its sudden fog in hopes that it'll help me get rid of the sudden feelin' of dread that threatens to overwhelm me in a single blow. Already, my thoughts are turnin' back to the look he gave me when he saw me with Calvin, as though I had ripped his heart out an' stomped on all the pieces before throwin' them in the fire. But before I can divert myself back to the present on my own I find that my uncle is grabbin' onto my hand and givin' it a small squeeze, his eyes meetin' my own as he manages a smile, before goin' on to speak.

"Go on, Lanie-girl. I'll meet ya back there just as soon as I get your friend."

"Okay," I reply, managin' a faint nod before turnin' on a heel and headin' down the steps of the courthouse to make my way to my uncle's office as I've been told. I would be lyin' if I were to pretend that I was not dreadin' seein' Will—not after the brief glance we shared in the courtroom mere moments ago. But I know I need to help my uncle, no matter what. That he seems to enjoy teachin' me what he knows, and that I've grown to enjoy learnin' about what he has done every day of his life since he was a grown man. And so I force myself to continue walkin' towards the office, my hands smoothin' idly against my skirts as I go in an attempt to steady my rattlin' nerves.

Maybe if I act like nothin' even happened, I can get rid of my nerves, and make an attempt at explainin' myself before Will Hatfield casts me off for good.

…

(Will POV)

To say that I am anythin' other than reluctant to be walkin' 'long the sidewalk next to Lanie's uncle would be a lie, my jaw clenched shut as though I'm afraid that if I speak, I may say somethin' I regret. Uncle Jim's words are still echoin' in my mind, tauntin' me about the girl I thought was my friend sittin' with McCoys durin' the trial. I can't get the image of her sittin' by Calvin as easy as breathin' out of my head, no matter what I do to think of somethin' else instead. And so I walk alongside Doc Rutherford as silent as the grave, only the sound of birds callin' while our feet thump against the wood of the sidewalk creatin' any sound at all to signify our passin'.

For his part, it seems like Lanie's uncle isn't exactly inclined to break the silence that is risin' up between us, though he keeps lookin' over at me as though expectin' that I will grow uncomfortable and do the deed myself. Honestly, such a thing only makes me that much more determined to stay quiet, my hands jammin' themselves in my jacket pockets as we move down the sidewalk, and take the next turn that leads us directly to his office. But before I can make good on that desire, I find myself brought to a stop as Doc Rutherford comes to a grindin' halt on the sidewalk beside me, and turnin' to face me instead of continuin' to move forward, his expression almost stern as he regards me for a moment before choosin' to speak.

"I want ya to know, my girl ain't turnin' her back on ya," He tells me, his tone makin' me wonder what, if anything, Lanie might've told him about the pig trial we both just witnessed, though I never get the chance to ask him because he decides to keep on speakin' just as soon as I open my mouth, "She's still your friend, no matter what ya choose to believe 'bout her an' Calvin McCoy."

"She courtin' him?"

"Seems to me that's her business, and her decision whether to tell ya or not."

"An' you're allowin' this?" I persist, takin' his evasive answer as confirmation of my worst suspicions, though I try my best to avoid lettin' how I really feel 'bout this newest development from showin' on my face.

"I'm not her Pa, Will Hatfield. I won't try to control her, or try an' tell her who to give her heart to, an' neither should you."

"That ain't what I'm doin'."

"Then why are ya so upset ya can't even give me the courtesy of honest conversation?"

I honestly have nothin' I can say in response to Doc Rutherford's latest question, my unbandaged eye meetin' his despite the fact that a part of me is tempted to just turn around and walk away. I know, however, that if I do, I'll just have to come back later on, to get my eye checked, if nothin' else. And in spite of the fact that base instinct tells me I have no reason to stay where I am, I remain standin' in front of Lanie's uncle, my gaze hardenin' just a bit before I manage to summon the wherewithal to speak.

"I'm with ya 'cause of needin' to make sure my eye's alright, ain't I?"

"You are."

"Then why don't we just focus on that, sound fair?"

In response to that, I find that Doc Rutherford simply manages a curt nod, instead of sayin' anythin' else, his steps resumin' the trek towards his office so that I can do the same not long thereafter. Though I don't want to admit it, I am feelin' the slightest twinges of guilt at havin' spoken to him so abruptly, especially since he's done nothin' but help me since the accident at Pa's loggin' mill. But no matter what guilt threatens to overwhelm me, I cannot help but cling to the frustration I have been feelin' ever since seein' Lanie with Calvin McCoy, my teeth grindin' together as I follow after the doc til we reach his office and he holds the door open for me to pass through before he does the same and shuts the door behind us.

"Why don't ya go on in an' take a seat on the examinin' table. I won't be long," Doc suggests, turnin' to hang his coat on one of the pegs beside the door, and then headin' off down the hall to leave me to my own devices. For a moment, I simply stand there, lookin' around the inside of what is not only Doc's office, but Lanie's home, as well, my eyes takin' in the small sittin' area set up just to the side of the front entrance, with comfortable lookin' chairs, an' a table set between them with a small doily placed on top. A vase of flowers is restin' on the windowsill above the chairs an' table, the water havin' clearly been recently replenished, since the flowers themselves are not droopin' like they sometimes do when they're parched. An' although I do not want to face it, the obviously feminine touches that signify Lanie's presence in a place that more often than not can be a place of pain and bloodshed before the healin' process begins serve to make my brow furrow as I realize maybe I was a bit harder in my judgements than she really deserved.

Doin' as the doc said, I choose to move through the sittin' area and head through the door that leads to the actual part of his office where he does most of his work, my gaze almost immediately lockin' with Lanie's as I enter the room an' realize she was waitin' for me all along. Her expression is tentative—frightened, even, as though she really thinks I'm capable of doin' somethin' to hurt her. And although I want to stay upset with her for stickin' by Calvin McCoy at the trial, I do what I can to temper that frustration, my hands once again stwoin' themselves away in my jacket pockets while I realize Lanie is speakin' to me first, since I never made the move to start a conversation myself.

"Hi Will," She murmurs, her hands fiddlin' with her skirts, though she never once lets her gaze drift away from mine in spite of her apparent nerves, "How—is your eye doin' okay?"

"It's fine," I reply, watchin' as Lanie flinches in response to the hardness of my tone, and frownin' a bit as that realization makes me want to give her a reason to smile, instead, "I still can't—I can't see nothin' though."

"Why don't ya sit on the chair over there, an' I'll take a look."

Doin' as I'm told, I plop down on the chair while Lanie sets about gatherin' a few fresh bandages, an' a bowl of water an' a cloth as well, her nerves seemin' to abate just a bit after findin' somethin' to do with her hands. I can't help it—the way in which my unbandaged eye watches her every move, as though she is the most fascinatin' thing I've ever seen. And although a part of me knows it is not entirely polite to stare, I cannot help but keep my gaze fixed upon her, anyway, the light flush that rises to her cheeks unusually satisfyin' as she moves back towards me, an' glances at the bandage that's coverin' my eye before she speaks.

"Can I—can I remove the bandage?"

"Sure," I confirm, sittin' back in the chair, an' doin' my best to remain relaxed while Lanie steps forward to gently remove the bandage from around my head. In truth, the softness of her hands distracts me from my uncertain feelins as far as they pertain to her, and the McCoy family. But before I can become too distracted by the sensation, I find myself startled back to the present as footsteps enter the room behind where I sit, signifyin' that Doc Rutherford has joined us, an' I no longer have the ability to attempt speakin' freely to Lanie without him overhearin' as well.

"How's he doin', Lanie?"

"Seems fine," Lanie answers, peerin' at my eye while her hand absently drops the old bandages behind her on the countertop, as if she's movin' by instinct, and that alone, "It—it's clouded over. An' he says he can't see anythin' at all, but there's no sign of infection or anythin' like that."

"No infection is good. Not seein' anythin' is—"

"Not so good," I finish, meetin' Lanie's gaze with my own once again, and noticin' almost immediately that her lips have turned down at the corners while concern makes itself apparent in her eyes. Though I've been balkin' in the face of anyone givin' me pity on account of what's likely gonna happen with my eye, somehow seein' it comin' from the girl standin' in front of me is different. Not as chafin' on my pride. And so when she lifts one hand to smooth back an errant lock of hair that's fallen across my good eye, I barely even flinch, though my brow lifts up almost immediately when I see the answerin' flush on her cheeks when she realizes I'm not intendin' on lookin' away.

"Think it looks good 'nough to let him go without bandagin' it again?" Doc inquires then, the sound of his voice forcin' Lanie to look his way, an' thus breakin' whatever it was that held us lookin' at one another as though we were the only two people in the room.

"I'd say so. You're welcome to take a look too if you want."

"I think I trust your judgement, Lanie-girl. If ya say it's alright, I reckon it's so."

Noddin' in response to her uncle's assessment, Lanie turns back to me and looks at me once again, her brow furrowin' just a bit as she looks at my milky eye as though tryin' to reassure herself that she's made the right call. I can see exactly how determined she is to make her uncle proud, though she seems more confident now than I remember her bein' when we first met. But before I can say anythin' about that, or the fact that I honestly find that confidence somewhat endearin', she's backin' away from me, her attention turnin' back to the supplies she no longer needs as she sets herself to the task of cleanin' up while her speaks once again.

"You let us know if anythin' changes with that eye, son. But I reckon you're gonna be back to your day to day activities now, without any trouble."

"Thanks, Doc," I manage, watchin' as he turns on a heel and heads out of the room, leavin' me alone with Lanie once again. For her part, she seems to still be absorbed in the task of puttin' the supplies she had gathered back in their proper places, her hands movin' surely as though she could do this in her sleep without a second thought. An' before I can stop myself, I find I'm standin' from the chair she had me sittin' in, my feet carryin' me over to her in mere seconds while I reach for the pile of fresh bandages that she hadn't been required to use.

"Where do these go?"

"The—the cupboard right beside the sink," She instructs, gesturin' with one hand, while the other remains occupied stowin' the bowl back on the countertop where she had grabbed it from, "You don't have to help me, ya know."

"I want to."

"Well thank you. I—I appreciate it."

"What're ya doin' with Calvin McCoy, Lanie?"

"What do ya mean?" She inquires, somethin' in her expression indicatin' that she is only askin' the question as a way to stall havin' to give me an honest answer, though I find that the act don't bother me as much as it might've had it been anyone else tryin' to put me off.

"Are ya courtin' him?"

"What does that matter?"

"It matters 'cause his family ain't safe for ya to be around," I declare, my tone hardenin' even in spite of the fact that I almost immediately regret how instantly it causes her to flinch, "They ain't good people, Lanie."

"Seems to me that's a decision for God to make, not you or me."

"I'm not makin' any decisions. Just statin' facts."

"Well your facts are wrong," Lanie persists, the surety in her tone surprisin' me, to say the least, and makin' me feel more than just a little apprehensive that if I push this, I just might lose her as a friend, "Calvin an' his family have been nothin' but kind to me since I've known 'em. An' if all you're gonna do is talk about how awful they are, maybe you oughtta leave."

"Lanie, wait—" I begin, shuttin' the cupboard door with a soft thump after stowin' the bandages inside, an' reachin' out to curl my fingers 'round Lanie's forearm before she can walk away from me for good, "I just wanna make sure you're safe. An'—an' that—"

"That what, Will?"

"That they haven't turned ya against me an' my family."

I can tell that Lanie is startled by my sudden confession, perhaps as much as I am, myself, her eyes goin' wide as she turns towards me, an' glances down at where my hand still rests on her arm. I'm more relieved than I think she knows that she isn't pullin' away, instinct promptin' my hand to drop down til it grabs her own as easy as breathin'. But before I can spend too much time considerin' exactly why it seems so imperative that I maintain my hold on her, she's givin' my hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes holdin' my own as she exhales gently before decidin' on her reply.

"They'll never do that, Will. Your family's been nothin' but kind to me, too, an' I have no intention of forgettin' that."

"Ya sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Lanie exclaims, the soft giggle that escapes her lips makin' me smile in spite of myself as she glances down at our entwined hands, with somethin' not that far from genuine hopefulness apparent in her eyes, "We're friends. That means somethin' to me."

Satisfied, at least for now, that what she says is true, I fall back into a more comfortable silence than I had been dwellin' in before, my attention still remainin' fixed on Lanie as she gently removes her hand from mine, and gets back to tidyin' up the remainder of the office. I'm more relieved than I probably should be since hearin' her promise her associatin' with McCoys won't make her stop thinkin' of me as a friend. But lingerin' doubt still plagues me that such a thing may not always be possible, especially if Randall or my own Pa gets wind of her courtin' Calvin.

I think my Pa liked her well 'nough when she was stayin' with us to help look after me, but if he finds out she's getting' more involved in the McCoy's family, that might change…

No matter how uncomfortable I'm feelin' at the prospect of admittin' such a thing aloud, an' in spite of the fact that I hardly understand why I feel such a thing to start with, the idea of bein' told I can't see Lanie anymore hurts far more than I thought it would, makin' me determined to ensure that such a thing never comes to pass.

She's my friend, an' I won't risk never seein' her again no matter what I have to do to prevent my Pa from makin' that declaration turn into law.

…


End file.
